


Wake Me When it Ends

by Inactive_Account



Series: Shouta Lance [9]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Can be read on its own, Childhood Trauma, F/M, Forbidden Love, Forgiveness, Grooming, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mpreg, Rape Recovery, Redemption, Rivalry, Stand Alone, discussions of child abuse, discussions of rape, discussions of trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-06-09 10:54:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 53,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15265965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inactive_Account/pseuds/Inactive_Account
Summary: Coran wished he saw the signs.He should have been there to stop the abuse. He should have been there to protect his son. Now Lance remained confused and unaware that he had even been abused, while Keith suffered every day with the horrors experienced, and both had such different needs and different reactions, even as he tried to be strong for both boys.Little did he know that Shiro would remain a shadow on their lives.He would struggle to keep Lance safe from further harm.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Time Out](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14132934) by [corruptfiction](https://archiveofourown.org/users/corruptfiction/pseuds/corruptfiction). 



_‘Papa,’ called Lance._

_Coran knelt down at the front door. He flung wide his arms, as Lance ran towards him, and – even with creaking joints and fatigued muscles – Coran used every ounce of strength to smother his eight-year old son with kisses, as he held him impossibly tight with loud laughter and tear-filled eyes. It took all his strength to let go just enough for Lance to step back, while he beamed such a bright smile that Coran was ready to cry all over again._

_A cool breeze blew through the house, while Shiro leaned against the porch. It ruffled the white streak of hair, as he watched the unfolding scene with a warm smile, and Allura came to stand behind him with Alfor bouncing on her hip, as he babbled aimlessly as only small babies could achieve. Lance looked perfect. He bore rosy cheeks on skin taken straight from his mother, with eyes just as vibrant and passionate as Allura in turn, and only his brown hair – inherited from Coran’s side of the family – revealed any other heritage._

_‘Did you enjoy your holiday, my boy?’_

_‘I sure did,’ chirped Lance. ‘Uncle Shiro is the best! We – We – We went to the carnival and the theme park and the water park and – and – . . . next time, Shiro says we can go to Disneyland? I want to meet Donald Duck. He’s my favourite! I – I also tried these new flavours of ice cream and Shiro let me have them with his secret sauce, and I also –’_

_‘It sounds like you may have had a_ tiny _bit too much of sugar,’ teased Allura._

_‘No?’ Lance pouted. ‘I only had ice cream and cotton candy!’_

_‘Sorry, guys,’ said Shiro. ‘I told Keith he could bring a friend on vacation, but he just wanted to do everything with Lance, and I felt – well – mean for saying ‘no’ when Keith was able to eat what he wanted and do what he wanted. I’ll try to moderate next time.’_

_‘Ah, speaking of Keith,’ said Allura. ‘Where is the birthday boy?’_

_Coran slowly stood with a hiss of pain. He cricked his back and neck, while Lance ran around him and dove across the floor to the television set, and – with a squeal of joy – turned on his favourite cartoon with his favourite five lions. Coran nearly lost himself watching his eldest so contented, but something was off . . . wrong . . . Coran furrowed his brow, while his eyes fell across to the car. Keith sat alone inside. He wrapped his arms around his legs, as he stared at the floor with dead eyes, and something inside Coran broke at the sight._

_‘Poor mite looks miserable,’ observed Coran._

_‘Oh, he’s just sulking,’ said Shiro. ‘He said something he shouldn’t to the bellboy, so he had to be punished and now he just doesn’t want to talk to anyone, but – as I tell him – it’s always better to say nothing than to say something you shouldn’t to people.’_

_Allura sighed with a gentle smile. Alfor blew bubbles, while Lance cheered at the television set with jabs high into the air, and yet – as Coran stared hard at the boy inside the car – something was amiss and something was wrong. It brought bile to the back of his throat, as he held back the urge to make a baseless accusation, and he knew that nothing could be done without evidence . . . he could only wait for a reason, wait to react . . . he forced a smile and drew in a staggered breath. Coran chirped out as warmly as he could muster:_

_‘Well, I hope he feels better soon!’_

_* * *_

Keith sat alone

The staircase was otherwise empty. There was a baby-gate at the bottom and a baby-gate at the top, with nothing but perfectly carpeted steps in between, and Lance would walk past with laughter and pulled faces . . . _‘are you on time-out?’, ‘only babies sit behind the baby gate’, ‘aren’t you smart enough to get out?’_. . . Lance currently sat in the ‘naughty corner’, where he stared at the wall with his head firmly on his hands.

A tick of the egg-timer counted down the time, where – once it beeped away the eight minutes – he would likely run into the kitchen, where Alfor would sit in his high-chair with homemade and edible putty, and Allura would coax him into making sugarless cookies. The phone would beep every hour, as Shiro would text to check in on his brother, but otherwise there was nothing but the low hum of music from the stereo, as Coran strove to finish his paperwork with little hums along to the artificial tune. Keith remained silent.

Coran dropped his pen onto the desk. He leaned back in his chair to look through the office doors and into the hall, where the lounge opposite revealed Lance jumping to his feet with the familiar buzz of the egg-timer, and – true to form – he ran into the kitchen just beyond with giggles and smiles. Keith looked down. Coran sighed and dropped his chair to all fours, before he stood and slid his paperwork far away with a shake of his head. Coran asked:

“Keith, do you miss your brother?”

He rolled his shoulders and walked into the hall, where the bright sunshine shone through the windows above the front doors and sent intricate patterns across the tiles, and stopped just before the baby-gate, which he leaned on with a bright smile. The door to his left revealed Allura standing behind Lance, who stood on tiptoe on a red stool, and together they used a rolling pin to flatten some pastry with occasional flour-fights and giggles.

Keith was indifferent to the fun and games. He wore thick jeans and a polo-neck jumper, complete with fingerless gloves, and Coran bit his lip and reached out to turn on the air-conditioning out of fear the poor boy would overheat. If the sudden burst of cold air made any difference, Keith made no sign of acknowledging that difference. It was eerie to see such blue-grey eyes clouded with a film of tears that never quite fell, while his pale skin grew sunken and hollowed with the force of his held breath. Coran asked in a whisper:

“Are you okay, my boy?”

“I’m not supposed to talk to people,” said Keith.

There was no life in those words. The harsh monotone was at odds with Lance, who was gesticulating wildly to Allura with loud sound effects and cheers, and Coran pursed his lips together in a tight white line in an attempt to hold his tongue, even as his heart pounded loud in his ears with a terrifying beat. He quietly clicked open the baby-gate and climbed the stairs, with his joints screaming in protest, and he swallowed back the bile and saliva, as he sat beside Keith and made sure to keep his hands clasped on his lap. No contact.

A hint of a bruise peaked out over the collar of his jumper, enough that Coran drew in a hiss of breath and grew light-headed with a churn of his stomach, but he forced a smile that barely broke at the corner of his eyes, and he stared off into the distance with a low hum. He vaguely remembered the safe-guarding procedures at school . . . advice from the counsellor and other staff . . . _‘try to give them space’, ‘don’t stare’_. . . Coran asked in a quiet voice:

“Why can’t you talk to people?”

“I say the wrong things.”

“Well, I certainly won’t judge you,” chirped Coran. “I say the wrong things all the time! My, do you know what happened when I met Allura’s father for the first time as her boyfriend? He was my best friend and I was so nervous. We agreed we would tell him nicely and slowly, but instead I just shouted out: ‘I love Allura’! It was very embarrassing. I cried afterwards.”

“That sounds silly.” Keith half-smiled with a sniff. “You say a lot of silly things, but no one ever hates you because you said them. I hear you tell Lance stories about aliens and monsters and how Allura is secretly a princess . . . it doesn’t make people angry.”

“Do you think I would be angry if you talked to me?”

“No,” said Keith.

A knitting of his brow betrayed a deeper concern. He did not think Coran would be angry, but his arms still tensed around his knees and he brought his legs to his chest, and he buried his forehead against them with a shuddered sigh, while rocking just slightly back and forth. Coran closed his eyes and counted to ‘twenty’. It was a long time for a child, enough to give Keith pause to collect his emotions and remove any pressure, but not so long that it might undo any brief trust gained. Coran screwed shut his eyes to hold back tears, as he asked:

“Are you scared someone else will hurt you?”

 _Silence_. Coran waited to be sure Lance was still busy, by leaning forward enough to see the shadows of his sons and wife against the far kitchen wall, and – as they gossiped about school and how strict Iverson acted – he leaned back with a sad smile. He licked at his lips, as a cold sweat broke over his flesh like a pouring of icy water, which forced a shudder to his form and a hiss of pain from his mouth. Coran rubbed at his legs with gloved hands.

“I get scared sometimes, too,” said Coran.

“I’m not scared,” muttered Keith.

“Of course not,” chirped Coran. “You’re _much_ braver than I am! Do you know one time my grandfather was designing a building for Allura’s dad; I wanted to help him, but I didn’t know what I could do at my age, so I bought him a cup of coffee . . . I – ah – spilled it all over his blueprints! My, he was so angry! I think he pulled down my britches and spanked me until I was red,” lied Coran. “That always hurts so bad, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” spat Keith with a curled lip. “I hate that.”

“It’s not the worst part, though, is it? It made me scared to ever talk to him again. If I accidentally broke a mug or lost a schoolbook or was late for class, I would never tell him just because I was so scared of a spanking again! I never did quite know how to make myself less scared. What do you do, Keith? Do you have any advice for me?”

Keith held ever tighter. He buried his face into his legs, but his body shook with racked sobs and a single tear rolled down his knee and faded into the denim. Coran grew faint. The world grew silent around them, as he swallowed down a deep breath and forced a trembling smile, before he slapped his legs and stood tall with a long sigh. Keith strove to hide his choked cries, but they were all too audible . . . no child should ever have reason to cry, no child should ever be afraid to speak their mind . . . Coran leaned down and said in a firm voice:

“You wait here a tic, okay?”

Coran jumped down the last few steps, before he ran to the front door. _A brief pause_. He glanced through the peephole, just on the off-chance someone might be back early, only to rip his keys from his pocket and violently lock the door with a loud huff. He flipped every latch and drew every chain, only to dash across the hall again . . . _‘stay put, lad, I’ll be right back’_ . . . Coran limped the last few feet to the back door, as pain shot through his knee.

He stood in the far corner of the kitchen. He locked the door as loud as possible, and – with a sigh of relief – turned to see Lance and Allura staring at him, both with the same raised eyebrow and pursed lips, which only made the scene more adorable. Lance stood in front, perched on his stool, while she wrapped her arms around him to guide his hands, and together they kneaded the dough for the fresh bread. Alfor looked between both parents, only to throw his hands in the air and shout ‘ _da’_. Allura smiled and asked with a shake of her head:

“What are you doing, Coran?”

Coran pressed his hands together, keys between them, and begged her to humour him, before he dashed into the hall with a slam of the kitchen door. He ran back to the staircase, where he closed the baby-gate behind him and threw himself against the steps. Coran panted for breath. The keys jingled in his hand, as he tossed them gently to Keith, who – with a sniff and a wipe of his nose on his sleeve – took the keys with a scrunched expression, and it took a nod from Coran for him to slide them into his pocket with the faint trace of a smile. Keith asked:

“Why do I have the key?”

“No one can get in or out this house,” said Coran. “The windows are all locked. The doors are all locked. Do you know what this means? It means you can tell me _anything_ and no one can get in here to stop you or spank you or scare you. Anything you tell me is secret, too, but if you can tell me who made you so scared -? I will _never_ let them in this house again.”

“What – What if they ask me to leave? I have to go home eventually. You might be able to keep me safe inside your house, but when I go home then I’ll be told off for telling people and then I’ll be – be . . . punished. I don’t want to be punished, Coran.”

“No, Keith. I will never – _never_ – let anyone hurt you.”

“Do you promise you won’t let him take me?”

“I promise on my life,” swore Coran.

Keith stared hard at Coran. There was clear distrust and doubt, as he toyed with the hem of his red jacket, but he remained silent while he stared ahead to the front doors, even despite the many latches and locks that protected him from any outside arrivals. The fast beat of his heart drove Coran to breaking point, as every pound in his chest grew stronger and more painful . . . he knew everything hinged on this moment . . . _one second, two seconds, three seconds_. . . Coran swallowed hard and waited in silence. He did not need to wait long.

“He hurts me,” whispered Keith.

The silence was finally broken. Coran fell cold. It took every ounce of strength to maintain his smile, even as acid burned at his chest and spilled onto his tongue, and he held his hands into tight fists to refrain from making his tremor visible to a sensitive gaze. _The signs were all there_ , Coran thought. It was difficult to hold back the panic attack . . . impossible to hide the way his lip trembled . . . Keith somehow missed his anxiety, as Coran chirped:

“How does he hurt you, Keith?”

“He – He makes me do things I don’t want to do,” murmured Keith. “If I do bad at anything, he’ll . . . he’ll make me give him a blow job or jerk him off . . . a few times he peed on me or spanked me or did icky things. If – If I try to t-tell anyone, he lets . . . he let this person put their thing in me, until they feel better. It hurts and I hate it and I want to die.”

_I want to die . . ._

Tears spilled down Coran’s cheeks. A cold dread overcame him . . . time stopped, his blood ran like ice . . . a dizzy spell struck, enough that he swayed with mouth opening and closing, and he realised that his doubt had led to prolonged abuse. . . if he voiced his concerns sooner, if he confronted Shiro before now . . . Coran swallowed back the lump in his throat. It hurt and burned, enough that he felt it travel down his entire pipe. _How long?_

Keith caught his expression of devastation; terror washed over him, as his mouth fell open and his skin turned deathly pale, and – as he made to run – Coran quickly grabbed at his arms with a forced smile, as he shook his head to dispel any remaining tears. Keith struggled. He pulled and fought and cried, until Coran yanked him into a tight hug and pulled back just enough to run his hands over tearstained cheeks, so that he could wipe away the tears and hold Keith firmly in place. The only sounds were those of choked sobs.

“Keith, I need you to look at me,” said Coran.

The sobs continued, until Keith finally quirked a small smile. It was feigned and devoid of real emotion, like an actor not quite ready for the stage, and Coran dropped his hands with a loud sigh, before smiling in turn and lifting a thumb up high. Keith sniffed and chuckled, as Coran pulled a strange face and winked at him. It seemed like he was vaguely coming around, even as the lingering sadness and fear remained between them, but it didn’t take long for Keith’s smile to fall as he dropped to the step with a low moan. Coran winced.

“You’re spending the night here,” said Coran.

“But Shiro is coming back at –”

“We have two spare rooms,” continued Coran. “I want you to pick which one you like better, and then we’ll pick which sheets you like best from the linen closet, and you can borrow your favourite teddy from Lance’s room. I’ll even sleep in the chair beside you, so you know that Coran the Gorgeous Man will keep away any bad guys! You will be safe, I promise.

“I _may_ have to call someone, though. It means that a nice policeman will come to the house, where they will talk to you about the bad things, and – _together_ – we will have to get the doctors to look at you . . . it’s just to make sure you’re not hurt! If you have any pain, we can make the pain go away. The pain in your heart may take a while longer to heal, but we will do everything we can to make you feel better . . . loved . . . _safe_.”

“What if the policeman makes me go home? Shiro –”

“You will _never_ have to go home again, Keith.” Coran blinked away tears. “This will be your home for a while, my boy. It may be that the policeman can find another person for you to live with, or maybe he will let you live here with us, but the important thing to know is that ‘home’ is where you feel safe and loved. That is _not_ your home. You will _never_ go back there and he will _never_ hurt you again. Trust me, lad. Trust me.”

Keith hunched his shoulders with a smile. He smiled and sought to choke out a stray word, only for it to die on his lips and for all the tears to follow, and soon he was weeping through his laughter, as he threw his arms around Coran and held him impossibly tight, until his loud cries brought Allura out into the hall to check on them. Coran gestured for her to go back, as she nodded to him and returned to their sons. The air-conditioner whirred in the background, while Coran patted at Keith’s back for several long minutes, until he stopped his tears.

Coran smiled as Keith finally stood, but frowned when the keys were pressed back into his hand, and – for a cold and dark moment – he feared that Keith failed to trust him, as if he expected to be sent back home into the hands of an abuser. Coran gripped the keys until his knuckles turned white, while his hand trembled around them and he struggled to draw in deep and slow breaths under the pressure of being faced with such trauma.

“You’ll need that to let the policeman inside,” said Keith.

Keith dashed up the stairs with quick steps. He stopped only at the head of the stairs, as Coran closed his hand around the keys with a sincere smile, and finally breathed slow enough for his heart to regain some semblance of normal speed, as he brought the keys to his lips and kissed them for sheer relief. _Tonight would be the last night Keith suffered._ Coran barely heard as Keith leaned on the railing and asked in a voice barely even a whisper:

“You won’t let Lance punish me instead, like Shiro?”

“No,” said Coran. “You won’t be punished.”

A bright smile swept over Keith’s face, as he ran down the hallway. The happiness and relief were palpable, but his words lingered and repeated over and over and over in Coran’s mind with a deafening sense of dread . . . _‘you won’t let Lance punish me’, ‘let this person put their thing in me’ . . ._ Lance was involved. . . his son . . . the boy he swore to protect ever since first holding him in his arms. He failed Lance. He failed Keith. Coran struggled to breathe, as he hyperventilated and gasped and panted . . . broken laughter . . . wet eyes. . .

The sweat and tears stung with an unbearable pain, while the sweat on his body caused his uniform to cling to his flesh, and he thought back to all his times with Allura . . . loving, tender, consensual . . . the idea of transforming that into something violent . . . _a punishment_. . . he snatched at a nearby vase and emptied his stomach inside, coughing up half-digested food. _Lance was involved_. . . he laughed, he cried . . . he did all that he could:

He wept.


	2. Chapter 2

“Is that everything?”

Allura blew at the signature. The ink seeped quickly into the paper, but – beneath the paragraphs of legal terminology and fixed dates – the signature appeared small and insignificant, as if it were lost among the pages and pages of information. It brought a few small tears to Allura’s eyes, as she gently placed the papers back on the table. A slight rustle echoed through the kitchen, as they slid across the tabletop, and sat awkwardly between them.

No one said a word. Shay made no move to take the papers. It was the first time Allura had interacted with Shay in a professional capability, even despite seeing her in the familiar suit so many times and having sat across her on an almost daily basis, but there was something intimidating to know their whole life rested in the hands of one woman. Allura lowered her head and wrapped her hands around the warm ceramic of her mug, while the scent of coffee lingered in the air, and – with a deep breath – she forced a smile and asked again:

“Keith may now reside with us?”

Shay took her mug in turn, as she sipped at the steaming coffee. A stack of leaflets and brochures sat not too far from the paperwork . . . _adoption, fostering, post-traumatic stress, child psychology, cognitive-behavioural therapy_. . . there were so many options and so many things to consider, but Allura knew that they could not let Keith go into care. A glance to the kitchen wall revealed dozens of framed photographs, each one featuring Lance and Alfor, but so many starred Keith alongside them from years spent as a family friend.

The briefcase at Shay’s feet remained open. There were so many files for the day that Allura winced at the sight, as so many other children were out there in need of a home, and she raised a hand to her chest as she closed her eyes for a brief few seconds. Shay lowered her mug and forced a smile, while the lines at the corner of her eyes crinkled, and a low sigh escaped her lips as she stared aimlessly into the steam from the coffee.

“Shiro was content to relinquish guardianship,” said Shay. “He wanted to give all rights to you both, while all preliminary checks came back perfect . . . you have no criminal records, you have experience with children, and you have very responsible jobs . . .”

“I am sensing a ‘but’,” whispered Allura.

“I simply wish to make sure that you are aware of the difficulties ahead. Lance will require therapy and support, while we both know that Alfor will require much time and attention as an infant, and Keith has experienced a vast amount of trauma. He will also endure a change of environment, while his therapy sessions are scheduled three times a week.

“Keith was abandoned shortly after birth, Allura. We still can find no records of Krolia, enough that we have reason to think she may have been in this country illegally, and his father passed away some years afterward, leaving Keith in Shiro’s primary care. In our interviews, we learned that Shiro allowed Keith to be assaulted by a flight-attendant some years ago . . . we also learned he was routinely raped as punishment by another party.”

Allura winced and blinked back tears. A cool breeze blew through the kitchen, rustling at her white-blond hair, and she could only bury her face into her hands, as she strove to hide the flush to her dark cheeks and trembling lip. It was impossible to admit aloud that they knew Lance had harmed Keith, as to say such words before Shay would be to risk losing Keith, and yet the realisation was strong and lingered. Shiro had harmed both children, but – worst of all – he had allowed them to be tools in each other’s abuse. It only added to the trauma.

“He has not revealed the identity of this third-party,” said Shay. “We suspect it may be another child due to his desire to protect them, but this also raises further concerns and issues. The medical examinations and interviews revealed that Lance routinely was abused by Shiro, although he does not see what happened to him as abuse, and my fear is that something deeper is at play between them . . . I fear there may have been child-on-child rape, too.

“I am fully reassured that Keith is completely safe in this environment, while both Lance and Keith seem to be responding well to therapy, and I have no proof that any abuse occurred between them, but I cannot simply leave Keith here and hope for the best. If I take these papers, you are also agreeing to weekly check-ups and monthly assessments.”

“We know this won’t be easy,” said Allura. “We have even arranged for therapy for ourselves, as well as family therapy for all five of us, but Keith deserves to be loved and deserves to have a supportive home environment. We believe we can provide that.”

“I understand, but why you in particular?”

A loud squeal echoed out from above. Allura raised her head, as two sets of footsteps ran about with loud ‘pew’ noises and childish laughter sounded from a corner, and she knew – without a doubt – Coran was bringing a smile to both Alfor and Keith, while Lance played video games in the room adjacent. It was as if Keith had changed overnight . . . laughter, attempts at humour, engaging in group activities . . . Allura ran her finger along the rim of her coffee mug, as a tear ran down her cheek. The words she spoke were deathly quiet:

“Because we should have seen it earlier . . .”

The brown liquid broke with dozens of ripples, as the tear dropped onto the surface and bled into the coffee, and – with a stifled laugh – Allura reached for a handkerchief and dabbed at her face, while apologising quietly under her breath. Shay slid her chair closer to Allura, as she took her hand and held it tightly on her lap, and Allura smiled and leaned closer with tears streaming down her cheeks, as her closest friend held her in a warm embrace. Every beat of her heart was audible and an awkward sweat broke over her skin.

“You feel guilty,” whispered Shay.

“He is such a wonderful child,” chirped Allura. “I look back and I remember how he shunned physical contact, often unsure how to react even to a simple hug, and his interactions were often so unnatural and he was so prone to tantrums. What if we simply asked him sooner? What if we called the police with an anonymous tip? What if . . . what if . . .

“We so often allowed Keith in our home. He became like a brother to Lance, while I would help him in his studies and Coran would teach him practical skills, and he is honestly like a son to me, one that I will _never_ allow harm to befall again. I will do right by him.”

“You seek only to protect him from further harm in this world.”

“I _will_ protect him from any and all harm. I will.”

Shay breathed deep. Allura pulled back with an awkward laugh, as she sniffed and shook and wiped at her tears, but – even as she apologised all over again – Shay simply leaned forward and took the papers from the table, which she slid into her briefcase. They fell with an audible ‘thud’, before the briefcase was clicked closed with a low hum. It was as if a weight was lifted. Allura fell forward and wept again, but this time with genuine laughter and smiles, while she whispered ‘thank you’ over and over as she was finally able to breathe.

“You will make excellent parents,” said Shay.

A hand came towards Allura, which she took with a warm smile. They shook and stood, while up above came another squeal and sounds of someone feigning death, and Shay chuckled behind her hand and lifted her briefcase high before her chest. The coffee grew colder on the tabletop, while the breeze from the windows grew stronger, and Allura escorted Shay to the hall with her shoulders finally free from a burden. Shay asked in a warm voice:

“I would like to see his room before I leave.”

“Of course,” said Allura. “This way.”

Allura clicked open the baby-gate. They walked the long staircase, turning at the midway point on the landing, and continued until they reached the first floor, where Allura unlocked the second gate and led the way sown a long hallway lit well with floor-to-ceiling windows on either end, and they stopped just before Lance’s bedroom. He glanced up from the illumination of a pause screen, before – with reddened cheeks and pursed lips – he ran across the bedroom and slammed the door shut on them. Shay squeezed at Allura’s shoulder.

It was a comforting gesture, but it did little to ease Allura’s heart. A terrible stab struck her chest, while her stomach churned and brought up acid into her throat, and she could only turn away with a staggered sigh toward the bedroom adjacent. The doors were thrown open, where they revealed a small room that overlooked the gardens beyond and a stream blocked off by an intricate brick wall from toddling feet. It was a beautiful view.

Alfor yelled out ‘mama’ and ran straight into her arms. Allura whisked him up with a smile, as she spun him in the air with laughter and kisses, but she soon stopped when she realised he was covered head-to-toe with red paint. It matted his hair and covered his cheeks. Allura dropped him with a sigh, only to turn and see Keith and Coran in equal disarray, with splotches of red all over them as if they were victims of a terrible murder.

The walls were all finished, which was a small relief, but Coran and Keith brandished paintbrushes like guns and chased each other about the room with cries of ‘got you’ and ‘I’m hit’, and it was difficult to stay too angry at either of them. In her mind, she planned a bath for Keith and Alfor while Coran stole the shower. There was no way they could sit around the dining table covered in paint, even if they seemed to have so much fun, and she smiled absently as she bounced Alfor in her arms. Shay called into the room:

“Is this your new room, Keith?”

Keith sat on Coran’s chest. He laughed so hard that tears streamed down his face, while he purposely aimed for the ginger moustache and painted it red, and Coran finally stopped his cries of ‘no, not the source of my power’ as he spotted Shay and Allura. Keith jumped to his feet and stared down at his feet, as he kicked at the plastic over the floor with a shrug, and he wandered close and yet not _too_ close to Shay, while returning to his default pout and struggling to make eye-contact. Shay remained patient with a smile.

“They let me paint it red,” said Keith.

“I see,” replied Shay. “Do you like it painted red?”

“It’s my favourite colour.” Keith shrugged. “I – I was scared you would take me away, so Coran said I could make this room look however I wanted, so . . . so if you did take me . . . it would always be mine and I could always come back as a grown-up. It’s also _mine_. It doesn’t matter if Shiro hates red or what Mama might think if she comes back . . . it’s _mine_.”

“Did you not have your own room at Shiro’s house?”

“I did, but he made me share with him.”

Allura winced. The nightmares were a regular occurrence over the past week, although they were too be expected in the face of such a trauma, but what was not expected were the exclamations made when half-asleep and half-awake . . . _‘not when I’m awake, please’, ‘I want to lock the door’, ‘you won’t do as Shiro did?’. . ._ Coran eventually relented. A lock was placed on the door and Keith was given a key and told it was the only key available.

It nearly resulted in an argument, until Coran revealed a spare key stashed in an empty drawer . . . _‘it’s – ah – accessible in case of emergencies, so the wee lad will never be in danger,  but he needs this, Allura. He needs to feel like he’s in control and in a safe place, so just let him believe he has the only key’ . . ._ Allura blinked back further tears. The police theorised that the abuse began with ‘nightly’ visits when Keith was assumed asleep, before progressing over the years to the point that it reached its current extent.

Keith stood in the room, while Coran tidied up the paints and brushes. A vast amount of furniture stood in the spare room opposite, filled to the brim with entirely new clothes and toys and books, and only a few items remained from the old house . . . _a ceremonial dagger left by his mother, a few first-edition science-fiction books of his father_. . . they would be kept safe until Keith was an adult. Allura let Alfor back down to play with Coran.

“Keith,” said Shay. “Do you like it here?”

A moment of silence broke through the room. Coran handed Alfor back to Allura, who sighed at being covered again with more red paint, and he gently shooed Keith outside and apologised for the fumes from the bedroom, while quickly running to Lance’s door and knocking with an over-the-top cheerful greeting . . . something stuck hard at the door in reply, causing Coran to jerk back with a wince. Shay looked away with an imperceptible wince, as Allura swallowed back her grief, and Keith could only crane his head up to ask:

“Are you _sure_ you won’t send me back home?”

“Of course not,” swore Coran. “Do you remember what I told you, lad? ‘Home’ is a place where you feel safe and loved and happy, so where you lived with Shiro was not a home, but – well – just a _house_. We promised you a home . . . a _real_ home . . . wherever that will be in the long run, it will _never_ be with Shiro. He will _never_ hurt you again.”

“I like it here,” mumbled Keith. “I want this to be my home. No one hurts me and people listen to me . . . they let me be sad and they let me be happy . . . I think Lance wants to annoy me sometimes, so I ignore him and he goes away, but I don’t hate him.”

“Okay,” said Shay. “Do you know how Lance makes you feel?”

“Sad. Confused.” Keith shrugged. “I don’t understand how he likes what Shiro did, because when I had to do those things . . . they hurt . . . they made me cry. Shiro made me do a lot of sex stuff, but I only had to do real sex stuff with just one person, and it was always as punishment for trying to tell someone. Lance was never punished. He also never told.”

Shay knelt down, as Allura bounced Alfor in her arms. It was interesting to see that she sat back on her legs, to allow herself to remain directly eye-to-eye with Keith, and – even though he avoided her gaze – he visibly relaxed and hunched his shoulders. Coran stood with hands on his hips, with red paint covering his bare arms and the black tank-top, and Allura blushed to see his physique on display, before focusing again on the mater at hand. Shay whispered:

“Did Lance ever hurt you, Keith?”

 _Silence_. Alfor gurgled and giggled in her arms, while the television in Lance’s room turned up in volume to make loud the latest video-game music, and Keith simply kicked at the floor with a booted foot and a shrug of his shoulders. The red in his hair would take so long to wash out, enough that Allura bit her lip to refrain from comment, but she knew it would take multiple washes and perhaps a change of hairstyle, and yet . . . Keith had commented he liked the look of mullet haircuts. Keith eventually cast his gaze to Shay.

“I don’t think it matters,” mumbled Keith.

“Why do you think it doesn’t matter?”

“I think if Lance hurt me, it’s because Shiro is a bad man that let him hurt me,” said Keith. “I would feel bad for Lance, as he was told something bad was good, and I would want Lance to get help and stop being a jerk, as if it’s my fault that Shiro went away. If Lance didn’t hurt me, he still had to have sex with Shiro and still lost Shiro. I would still feel sad for him.”

“That is a very grown-up way of thinking,” said Shay. “I am going to ask you one last question, Keith, but I want you to know that – whatever you answer – you will _not_ be taken away from here, okay? You will get to stay here. Do you understand?”

“I guess,” said Keith.

“Did Lance ever hurt you?”

Keith jerked a few steps back. He cast his eyes from Coran to Allura, where he opened wide his mouth and rapidly blinked, and Coran – with a low sigh – dropped down with a wince of pain on his joints, before giving a mock salute and a sharp nod. Keith bit at his lip and scrunched up his face. It took a long few seconds, but soon he found the strength to nod at Coran and then nod and nod and nod . . . tears streamed down his face, until he started to shake his head and rub at his eyes, and he choked out in a whisper:

“C-Can – Can I go watch my cartoons now?”

“Of course, my love,” said Allura.

They stood still, as Keith ran with low sobs. No one said a word, even as he ran down the stairs and into the lounge below, and soon the familiar sounds of his favourite cartoon echoed from the opened doors, while Allura struggled to hold back tears in turn. It took all her strength to hold Alfor close to her chest, while she buried her face into the crook of his neck to hide her cries in turn. Coran came behind and wrapped his arms around her waist, while he kissed at her neck with broken sighs, and neither spoke until Shay asked:

“You have the name of the therapist I recommended?”

“We do,” said Coran. “We’re all booked, too.”

“Lance and Keith are both booked for Monday,” said Allura. “They are seeing different therapists, but both in the same building to allow for convenience. On Wednesday, we have family therapy with a therapist not associated with either of the children. On Friday, they both go back for another session and we will attend a session of our own.”

“I – er – looked into in-patient care, too. Just in case!” Coran flushed red. “I also looked at all the other information you left with us . . . boarding schools, nannies, group therapies . . . I think we’re knowledgeable for all circumstances, but I think therapy is enough for now.”

“I would also recommend some clubs,” said Shay.

“Oh, we’re all sorted on that front! I booked the wee mite in for Scouts, along with Lance, and I’m even volunteering as for the troop, so they will have a familiar face for support while they are there. I also signed Lance up for a dance class, while I found a delightful club for outdoor sports that Keith might like, and I’m hoping for the best all around.”

Shay nodded to them and angled her body towards the stairs. Coran took the hint and matched her pace, as he walked at her side back towards the hall below, and – as Allura held a little tighter to Alfor with a hiss of breath – she noted how he dragged red footprints with him along the hallway carpet, which thankfully trailed off and finally stopped. Allura followed behind, while Alfor babbled aimlessly with baby-talk, and soon they stopped at the head of the staircase, as Shay turned and shook Coran’s hand to say:

“Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“Do you think we will be okay?”

“I think you will both be fine,” swore Shay. “I cannot stay longer, as I have many appointments today, but you both have my personal number and you also have a list of emergency numbers just in case anything crops up. Do keep me updated?”

“Of course,” swore Allura. “And we will see you next week?”

“Same time, same place,” chirped Shay.

Coran walked with Shay down the stairs, until he was soon out of sight and only aimless small-talk could be heard in the distance, and Allura – with a stab of panic – ran back to Lance’s door, where she pressed her ear against the wood. The only sounds were familiar background music and sound effects, along with loud clicks and stabs of the controller, while soft murmurs and curses echoed from Lance on every small mistake. On any other occasion, Allura may have chastised him and taken away his controller for the evening.

A staggered breath escaped her lips, as she forced a smile and knocked on the door. The only response was a screamed _‘go away, I hate you’_ and the volume being turned up once more, but this time in an attempt to mask the choked sobs that were audible even over the video-game, and it was all she could do not to weep where he would overhear. A terrible stab of pain struck at her chest, as she hunched over with Alfor in her arms.

A few stray tears rolled down her cheeks . . .

There was no way to ease his pain.


	3. Chapter 3

Coran knelt down.

A bright smile crossed his features, breaking lines at the corner of his eyes. The kitchen was cool with a breeze from the open back door, while Colleen and Samuel sat with Allura at the dining table with mugs of coffee held before them, and very little could be heard over the loud laughter from outside on the patio just before the garden. If he were to turn now, he would see Katie and Keith being watched by Matt. They appeared content.

Katie drew on large sheets of paper. The six-year old was so adept with a pen, able to concoct intricate plans for a toy car and how each piece should connect, and Keith – with a furrowed brow – would strive to copy the design with the mechanical set intended for older children, with little fingers stumbling with the wench. Matt watched them with music blaring in his earphones, while working on a battery motor to make the car run once finished, and occasionally called out to Lance for him to join them. Lance remained firmly inside.

He stood in the kitchen doorway, with his blue lion toy in hands. It was rolled and poked and prodded, as he sought for some form of distraction, but – every time he looked to the three adults at the table – his eyes would water and his cheeks would turn red. Coran pulled him close into a warm embrace, while he ran his hands over brown hair with a low hum. The past few months were torture, with one child having nightmares about being with Shiro and the other having nightmares about being torn away from Shiro, and Coran struggled to endure.

Lance wept against Coran. He threw his arms around his father, with the plastic toy hitting the back of Coran’s head with a little accidental bump, and he cried until Allura cried in turn, while muttering apologies as Colleen handed her a handkerchief. Coran waited until Lance gained his breath, although choked sobs still escaped his lips, and he pulled back with tiny fists rubbing at his eyes until they turned red. The toy lion fell onto the floor with a clatter.

“I want to see Shiro,” whined Lance.

A part of Coran broke inside. The tears rose to his eyes, blurring his vision and stinging at the skin, until – with a broken laugh – he smothered Lance with kisses and embraces, while running his hands over him in search of some injury or illness, as if there could be a physical cause for his irrational demand. Lance continued to sniff and stutter, as words fell limp and lost on his lips, and in his pyjamas he appeared weak . . . vulnerable . . . broken.

Coran struggled to sit down cross-legged, while his heart raced and a sweat broke over his flesh, and – using all his strength – he forced a weak smile that his all his concerns and fears, even as his hands trembled in reach of his eldest son. Lance stared at him with big blue eyes, with his Altean markings looking all the brighter in the harsh kitchen lights, and Coran smiled to see a little bit of Alfor Senior in his expression, as if his grandfather lived through him and remained a part of his life. Tears fell from Coran’s eyes . . . _I want to see Shiro . . ._

“You can’t, my lad,” whispered Coran.

“Why?” Lance asked. “Everyone else gets to see him!”

“The people who see him are police and doctors.” Coran forced a bright smile. “They are there to make sure he’s punished for the bad things, but they are also there to make sure he becomes a good person and never hurts anyone else. In the meantime, you have to keep away from him . . . it’s just to make sure you’re safe, my love. He’s dangerous.”

“He’s not dangerous! He was nice to me . . . everyone else is really special, Papa, like how Katie can be clever and how Hunk can cook and how Keith can make stuff . . . I can’t do anything, but Shiro was nice to me and loved me. I was his favourite.”

“Do you think we don’t love you, Lance?”

“I don’t know,” mumbled Lance. “I just know Uncle Shiro made me feel good. He gave me toys and day-trips when I was good, and when I was bad he never yelled or was mean, but talked to me like a grown-up and made me feel better. How was he bad?”

“I – I thought we talked about this, son? There was thing in life that _seem_ good, but that can be _very_ bad for us in the long-run. It can be fun to smoke, but smoking makes us sick. It can be good to eat lots of fatty foods, but then we get bad hearts and bad veins. It can be fun to go fast in a car, but then we get into crashes and can be killed. Fun things aren’t always good.”

Coran cast a glance towards the table. Samuel nodded to him, while Colleen comforted Allura and held her close to her chest, and – as his lip trembled – he knew there was no easy way to have such a difficult conversation, especially when Lance looked to him with eyes wide and watery and with a desperate hope that was impossible to be squashed. The newspapers stacked by the kitchen bins bore clear photographs of Shiro . . . reminders of the past . . . a pile of shredded photographs sat in a plastic bag just to the side.

A few photographs were saved from Keith’s furious hands, where they were stashed away in boxes with family heirlooms and possessions for when he was older, and there they waited in the attic for him to make a decision as an adult, but still Coran noticed that a few heads of Shiro were missing from the pile just a day after Keith made his protest. He swallowed hard and nodded to the kitchen door, where Matt taught Katie and Keith how to install the motor.

“It also wasn’t fun for Keith,” whispered Coran.

“Yeah, but that was because he was being punished, right?”

Coran turned white. He opened his mouth with a broken cry, before yanking Lance toward him and holding him impossibly close, while he buried his head into the crook of Lance’s neck and strove to hold back the weeping panic attack ready to explode. It took a long few minutes to compose himself, before he pulled back with sniffs and smiles. Lance knitted his eyebrows together, while wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand, and he moaned low in the back of his throat, almost like the day where he played sick. Coran blinked back tears.

“No one – _no one_ – should ever punish you with sexual acts,” said Coran. “No one, Lance. The only time that sexual acts are okay is between two happy adults, when both really want to feel good and both are grown-up to know the risks, and if either one _tries_ to hurt the other one with sexual acts -? That is very bad. It is painful . . . it hurts . . . it’s why we don’t spank you when you misbehave, because _no one_ should ever hurt another person, love.”

“Okay, so – so – so he was bad to Keith. I understand that.” Lance rubbed at teary eyes. “I’m sorry, okay! I’m sorry I was mean to Keith, too, but I don’t understand why _I_ can’t see Shiro, because Shiro never hurt _me_! I hope Shiro never ever sees Keith again, because he was mean and made Keith sad, but he never made _me_ sad and I want to be happy again.”

“My love, remember what I said? It may have felt good, but that doesn’t mean it _was_ good. I know you love Shiro very much, but he knew you didn’t know a lot about sex . . . contraception, pregnancy, disease . . . that’s why it’s wrong, Lance. He took advantage.”

“Maybe I wanted him to take advantage,” mumbled Lance.

Coran winced and closed his eyes. He wanted to shut out all other pieces of information, as he strove to process what was revealed to him, but – as tears leaked down into his moustache – every finger on Lance’s shoulders held ever tighter, afraid to let go when he was on the verge of losing so much. Coran reopened his eyes to see Lance heartbroken and tear-stricken, as his chest heaved up and down with broken sobs. Lance was hurt.

A painful silence descended between them, until Lance let out a low moan. He pushed past Coran and knocked him over without any real intent, as he ran over to the stack of old papers and rubbish and snatched the newspaper from the very top, where a black-and-white photograph of Shiro stared out from on top . . . _‘Disgraced Ex-Garrison Pilot in Child Abuse Scandal’_. . . Lance sniffed and smiled at the photograph. He clutched it to his chest and ran straight for the hall, where his footsteps were heard running up the staircase.

It was more than Coran could bear. He climbed awkwardly to his feet, with winces of pain in his joints, before he finally burst into tears and collapsed at the table opposite Colleen and Samuel, but between Allura and Alfor in his highchair. The cries wracked through his frame, as he buried his head against his blue sleeves, and – with a confused cry of ‘ _Da’_ – Alfor reached down to pat his back, until he could only laugh through his tears.

“You handled that well,” said Sam.

Coran sat upright; Allura was still in tears, while Colleen held her with a gentle embrace, and Samuel strove to maintain a stoic façade, even as his eyes watered and he nodded with a gentle respect toward them both in turn. A hand was slid across the table, as Samuel took his gloved hand and squeezed with a whispered ‘ _it’ll be okay’_. Alfor continued to pat at his back, until he whisked the infant from his chair and held him on his lap, as Alfor tugged and played with his moustache and babbled aimlessly with content laughter. Coran choked out:

“I could’ve handled it better.”

“He’s still just a child,” whispered Colleen. “You still have to maintain his innocence, so there’s only so much you can say without crossing lines, and he’ll understand as he gets older. It won’t always be this way . . . he will get better, I swear.”

“I do loathe this idea of ‘innocence’,” said Allura. “What is ‘innocence’? Is Lance less innocent now he has engaged in sexual acts? Is it merely a lack of comprehension that makes him innocent? If we focussed less on innocence, we could have focussed more on sexual education and consent. If he knew more about sexual acts, about predators, about warning signs of abuse . . . maybe it would never have gotten to this point.

“I feel we failed him by focussing too much on preserving this outdated notion of ‘childhood’, as if somehow knowledge or awareness would prevent him from having an excellent childhood and a normal development, and now he struggles to comprehend _truly_ adult concepts and will carry this trauma with him for a lifetime. We have made him a victim.”

“No, Shiro made him a victim,” spat Samuel. “If you start blaming yourselves, you detract blame from the one person who _chose_ to hurt Lance and Keith. I’m not letting Shiro off that easily, Allura! I look to their faces and I wonder . . . I wonder how he could . . .”

“Shiro still will not say why he acted as he acted.”

“They never do. I’m just glad he pleaded guilty . . . I’ve seen children younger than Keith accused of _seduction_ in court cases, even warping acts like bath time into something perverted, and it’s nothing an already traumatised child needs to go through . . . they’ll ask if Keith said ‘no’, why he never said ‘no’, and why he never asked for help sooner . . .”

A burning bile rose to the back of Coran’s throat. It burned and stung, as he swallowed back the forming lump with a grimace, and he panted for breath as his lunch caught in his chest, while he glanced back to the kitchen door and focussed on Keith. He was play-fighting with Katie for the controller, while Matt laughed and played with the car manually as they bickered, and small packs of juice lay littered about them with some leaking out onto the patio stones. Coran smiled as tears pricked at his eyes again. Colleen whispered:

“Did he hurt anyone else?”

Coran ran his hands over his face, as he sighed, but quickly brought them back around Alfor who sought to climb and crawl all over him, even to the extent of attempting to toddle across the table toward their guests. It brought laughter from Coran. Alfor saw him smile and played further, trying to elicit further laughter, until he whisked Alfor into his arms and held him tight, as he smothered him with kisses and used him as an anchor.

“He claims it was just Keith and Lance,” mumbled Coran.

“We still worry,” said Samuel. “We still worry he may have touched Matt or Katie, but they keep telling us over and over that no one else hurt them, but . . . how can we believe that? I – I don’t want to doubt them, but what if they’re just scared to say something or are trying to protect him? Will I go my whole life always wondering . . . always fearing . . .”

“It’s why we thought it so important to socialise the children more,” added Colleen. “I thought it would be particularly good for Lance and Keith, because it will help them to learn appropriate interactions and give them peers to trust and maybe some distraction.”

“And it’s always better than to be alone . . . having friends.”

“I just wish Lance would socialise more,” said Allura.

Coran sighed and stood with Alfor in his arms. He bounced Alfor with low hums, while he walked over to the kitchen doorway and stared at the empty staircase, and – high above – music blared from some band or other beyond his comprehension, as a heavy bass echoed out that seemed beyond Lance’s years. A cool breeze caught at Alfor’s hair, as he sneezed and tried to climb down onto the floor. Coran dropped him down with a smile.

“Lance will come around, Allura,” promised Colleen.

“I just feel I have failed him,” whispered Allura.

It was beyond Coran to stay away from her side. He sprinted across the room toward Allura, where he wrapped his arms tightly around her and pulled her head to his chest, and – as she wept – she clung to his arms and held him tight, so that the rest of the world faded out of view around them. Alfor toddled quickly after him, until he reached her skirts and called out ‘ _Ma_ ’ and cuddled against her legs, and together they laughed and patted at his head with gentle touches. Allura choked on her tears, and whispered in a broken voice:

“It was my duty to protect him, but I could not even do that.”

“You weren’t to know, my love,” swore Coran.

The children continued to play outside, while Alfor fell at her feet with a yawn and rubbed at his eyes, and – with a kiss to her hair – Coran knew that things would take time for everyone, but the children had to come first and they needed to be strong for their sake. Coran breathed deep her perfume, while he ran his hands threw her hair . . . Colleen busied herself making tea, while Samuel took Alfor outside to play . . . Allura continued to weep against him.

There was nothing to do but to wait for the tears to end . . .

“We’ll get through this,” said Coran. “I promise.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

Keith lay alone.

He rested on the main sofa within the lounge; cushions were piled beneath his head, while a blanket was draped over his nine-year old frame, and blue-grey eyes peeked out from underneath heavy eyelids, as he cuddled against a stuffed toy lion. Only a shaft of light from half-opened curtains illuminated his pale cheeks, while the flickering images from the television set cast shadows over his prone form. Coran quietly tiptoed into the room.

Lance sat before the television still in his pyjamas. A large bowl of cereal sat before him, filled to the brim with some sugary treat that Allura would confiscate if spotted, and he ate quickly with loud crunches and some splashes onto the carpet. The school uniform sat beside him, where he would likely rush to get ready once Coran clearer his throat in half-an-hour, and he would then rush to the front door with satchel in hand, before Allura rushed him to the school bus with words of warning for the future. Coran smiled and shook his head.

He crept over to Keith and sat at the edge of the sofa, where the cushions dipped and Keith groaned, with his hands wrapped tightly around his stomach. Coran furrowed his brow . . . half-Galra blood led to different illnesses than Altean or human physiologies, but so far it appeared to be no more than a bad flu or stomach bug. He pulled off his glove with his teeth and pressed a bare hand to Keith’s forehead. Keith flinched.

“Still phobic of touch, eh?”

Keith mumbled an incoherent complaint. There were tears in his eyes, while his lip trembled, and Coran quickly pulled back his hand and pulled on his glove, before handing Keith a pair of fingerless gloves and signalling to pull the collar of his polo-neck jumper. Keith obeyed, before cuddling back up under the covers. The tears were gone. A faint smile played at his lips, as his eyes closed and his breathing slowed down, and he said nothing as Coran stroked at his hair with a gloved hand that avoided the few slivers of bare skin.

“I’m getting better,” mumbled Keith. “I’ll be fixed soon.”

“You don’t need to get ‘fixed,” said Coran. “You’re not broken to _need_ fixing, my boy. If you feel unhappy with this phobia, we will work with you every step of the way to help you get to a place where you’re less afraid, but – remember – there’s no pressure. If you’re happy the way things are then we won’t force you to make any changes, okay?”

“I know, but I want to be like the other children. Matt and Katie hug and hold hands and play-fight all the time, and Hunk and Lance always touch and hug, and I – I want to do that, too, without . . . without being reminded about Shiro. I don’t want Shiro to win.”

“Shiro lost the moment he hurt you, Keith. He will never win.”

“So how come I’m still afraid of him?”

Coran drew in a sharp breath. He swallowed hard and forced a smile, while he checked that the glass on the side-table was filled with clean water and the sick-bowl on the floor was empty, and yet – as he hummed a low tune – it did nothing to escape from the horrible truth, which was that Keith struggled to feel whole. Coran sighed and slid onto the sofa, before he lifted Keith’s legs onto his lap and leaned back against the cushions. He asked:

“Did you tell your therapist about your fear?”

A shrug was the only response. Keith rolled onto his back, as he threw an arm over his eyes and revealed pale cheeks with a sickly tinge, and Coran – biting the corner of his room – reached out once more to pull down his eyes and open his mouth. The skin inside his eyes was normal, but his throat was inflamed and would need to be observed. Keith endured the prodding and poking without complaint. The noise of the cartoons blasted through the room, providing them with a distraction, and Coran pulled back as Keith sighed.

“Yeah, I told her,” mumbled Keith.

The familiar theme tune blew through the room, bringing a smile to Keith. He rolled back onto his side with a yawn, while eyes opened a little more to watch over Lance’s head, and Coran chuckled and brought the blankets up to the tiny chin. Keith murmured and grasped the hem in small hands. He was comfortable. Coran pulled back to give him some space, as he leaned against the arm of the sofa and avoided touching Keith with his hands. Coran asked:

“What did she say to you, Keith?”

“Miss Romelle thinks I’m learning to trust people again,” said Keith. “Romelle says I still seem depressed, so I have to learn that people aren’t going to leave me, but I don’t think I _can_ trust people that much. Mama left me. Papa died. Shiro hurt me. Why would anyone else be any different? I don’t know. I – I think I’m just scared . . .”

“Do you know why you feel scared?”

“I feel scared because if I trust people . . . what if they hurt me like Shiro hurt me? It hurts bad enough when someone is mean to you, but it hurts more when you thought they were nice and they really don’t like you and they just want you to be hurt. Every time anyone touches me, I remember those bad feelings and I get scared. Is that normal?”

“Keith, no one alive is ‘normal’,” said Coran. “Do you know I like to my nuggets into my milkshake? Ah, Allura always pulls such faces, but it’s so delicious! In terms of bad feelings . . . well . . . everyone has different ways to cope. Allura cried for days when her father died, while always praying and talking to him, but I just stayed awake at night and felt tired a lot, and Zarkon – his friend – pretended like nothing happened.”

“So it’s okay if I still get scared?”

“If you feel happy or sad or scared or angry, it’s all okay. You are entitled to feel how you feel, Keith, and there is _no_ ‘right’ way to feel in these circumstances, so no one can tell you what you should do in reaction. It’s okay to feel scared. It’s okay to want to make that scared feeling go away. We’ll do all we can to help you, I promise.”

Lance pushed his bowl away, as he spun around with a pout. Coran smiled and signalled him to join them on the couch, but he simply crossed his arms and stared hard at the ground, and – as a part of his heart broke – Coran maintained his smile. He slid closer to Keith, so that he was firmly fixed on the middle cushion, and arranged some pillows to the empty spot at his side, where he pulled down a second blanket in hope Lance would change his mind. Coran busied himself fixing a comfortable spot, as he called back to Keith:

“How else do you feel?”

“Happy,” said Keith. “I like making friends. I also like that you’re so nice, and Allura always includes me in stuff, so I don’t feel alone or that anyone will hurt me. The nightmares still scare me, but I like how Allura tells me stories and sings. I feel good.”

“Is there anything else we can do to help you?”

“Just keep Shiro away,” mumbled Keith.

Lance scoffed and threw himself backward. He stared hard at the ceiling with a cold gaze, while his lips pursed into a white line, and his hands were clasped so tightly that his knuckles turned pale with the pressure. The tiny chest of the nine-year old moved up and down with huffed breaths, while he remained ever quiet underneath the sound of the cartoon. Keith rolled his eyes at the apparent tantrum. It was a silent condemnation, which Lance luckily failed to see, but Coran squeezed at Keith’s leg in warning as he called to Lance:

“Are you okay, son?”

No response.  The lower lip trembled . . . Lance lay with eyes screwed shut and hands fisted tight . . . Coran fought the urge to fun to him, even as he struggled in turn to control his breathing, and he simply watched that chest heave and cheeks flush. Coran hummed an old tune, one of Lance’s favourite songs, until he eventually slowed his breath and his muscles relaxed, and Coran finally felt a weight lifted from his shoulders.

“Lance, talk to me,” whispered Coran.

Lance sat upright. He rubbed at his eyes and nose with his sleeves, before he ran over to the sofa and climbed on with heavy throws, and – finally – curled against Coran with his head rested against his chest, so that a familiar pressure provided a small comfort. Coran dropped his hand onto his head; brown hair parted through his fingers, while he continued to hum in an attempt to comfort Lance. Alfor cried in the distance, while Allura ran to and fro with shouts for Lance to hurry for school, but Coran ignored everything except for Lance.

“You keep Shiro away from Keith,” mumbled Lance. “Okay, I can get that. I just don’t get why _I_ have to be kept away from Shiro, too! You said people can grow and change, so doesn’t that mean that Shiro could have learnt not to do sex stuff with people that can’t consent? If he’s a better person, we shouldn’t exclude him, right?”

“I think we need to talk again, love,” said Coran.

“Why? I know what Shiro did was bad, but that doesn’t make him a bad person! Everyone asks how Keith feels and stuff, all because he – like – cries and has bad dreams, but just because I smile and laugh doesn’t mean I feel happy. I have to be happy so no one else is sad, and when I’m sad everyone else cries, and Keith needs attention all the time to feel better, which sucks, because he’s like the favourite and then I feel more sad.”

It was a lot to process. Coran rested his hand on a small shoulder, while he stared aimlessly at the lions on the television screen, and Keith groaned beside him as he curled up with hands pressed to his stomach, while he turned white once again. The divided attention was good for neither, which meant that Allura would likely need a day from work in turn, but – with a forced smile – he reached for Keith’s stomach and waited for a nod of consent, before touching his stomach and massaging the skin in hopes of easing the pain.

“I didn’t know you still felt so sad,” said Coran to Lance.

“Yeah, well, you never ask.”

“How about I ask you now?” Coran smiled. “I thought family therapy was going well; I honestly expected you to tell us if something was wrong, but that was my mistake and I shouldn’t have assumed, Lance. Will you tell me how you feel? If you like, we can keep you home from school today too . . . just this once. You can help me make chicken soup.”

“Keith gets the best grades at school. Keith is everyone’s favourite. I just . . . I just want to be the favourite again, with all the hugs and ice cream and kisses. No one hugs me properly any more, because they’re so scared that I’ll think they mean it badly or something.”

“I’m happy to give you hugs, if you want them?”

Coran left one hand on Keith’s stomach, but the other he held out to Lance. It brought an immediate tremble to soft lips, which groaned as tears formed in the eyes, and – with great force – Lance threw himself against Coran and gripped hard around his waist. The tears spilled over flushed cheeks, as Lance sobbed and coughed and stuttered, and Coran held him close as tight as he were able, while he continued to ease Keith’s stomach ache. In a few minutes, he would need to ask Allura to pull a rare sick-day, but first he asked:

“Can I ask you to do something for me?”

“What?” Lance asked.

“I want you to write letters to people,” said Coran. “If you have something to tell me, I want you to write me a letter. If you want to talk to Shiro, I want you to write him a letter. I can’t – _and won’t_ – promise we’ll send them, but I _will_ promise that you don’t have to show anyone any of the letters you write . . . I’ll buy you a box to lock them all away, if you like.”

“What’s the point of writing letters no one will see?”

“It gives you full control. _You_ get to decide if people read them or not, and _you_ get the full power over every letter, including what you say and what you don’t say and sometimes . . . sometimes things are hard to say to people, so writing a letter stops all those secrets and words from growing and growing inside, and we feel better by letting them out.

“I used to scream into a pillow. Keith talks to his therapist. We all do what we can to let out all the bad feelings, so if you feel no one’s listening . . . or that you can’t talk to people . . . letters can be a great way finally say what you need to say. You can even write to God, which my grandpa taught me to do as a wee lad. Just write, Lance. You could even write a story about what happened. You could send texts to people. Just . . . let it out.”

Every wracked sob broke his heart. He stayed still while Lance wept against him, with small hands clawing into the blue of his instructors’ uniform, and soon blue eyes were bloodshot with visible bags beneath them, while skin turned sallow and cheeks sunken. A cold sweat was broken over his body, which indicated a bug or sickness, and – as Keith rolled over to heave into the bowl on the floor – Coran closed his eyes and cursed the difficulties life brought, all caused by Shiro . . . all caused by a man they were led to trust . . .

“I miss Shiro,” murmured Lance.

“I know,” said Coran. “I know. It’s okay to miss Shiro, just as it’s okay for Keith to hate Shiro, but I love _both_ of you and I’ll listen to _both_ of you, okay? Today . . . Today let’s stay home and cuddle up with some chicken-soup, while we watch cartoons and sing songs. I bet you didn’t know that ‘Voltron’ is based off old history, did you?”

“No way,” laughed Lance.

“You shouldn’t tell lies,” muttered Keith.

“It’s true! Long ago, Allura and Zarkon’s ancestors created the five lions. Ah, there was a war that lasted so many years that we feared it would never end! It led to the Altean people finding new planets to live, while the Galra people moved to a new planet when theirs was destroyed, and our people were angry at each other even when the war ended.

“Voltron is the robot that stopped the war! If Voltron were around today, I think that our Lance would be good old Blue and Keith would dear old Red . . . you’re both smart and funny and kind, just like how the stories tell of Paladins. A lot of the stories were passed down as legend, because records weren’t very good back then, and people on Earth were very secluded and didn’t know about aliens back then, but I remember all the stories!”

Lance smiled even as he sniffed. Keith rolled back with a little bit of sick on his chin. They both listened with eyes fully focussed on him, with expressions of awe and interest, but – with both so sick and distressed – he knew he would need help. Coran quickly text Allura from his phone, so that he would not need to leave their sides, before he gently pulled himself away and let the two boys cuddle up side-by-side. He quickly fetched a wet cloth from a bowl full of ice, as he wiped at Keith’s face and handed him a small glass of water.   

They were both oddly quiet, as Keith simply sipped at the glass. They said nothing when Allura entered with Alfor, with a tray of plain sandwiches on one hand, although Lance muttered over and over for Coran to ‘hurry up’, and soon they were all piled together on the sofa while the cartoon was turned off and the room fell dark. Keith smiled, as Coran cleared his throat and cricked his fingers with a large grin. Finally, Coran chirped:

“Let me tell you both some stories . . .”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

_Coran sighed._

_Keith sat alone at the kitchen table. The ten-year old held his hands clasped on the wooden surface, with his knuckles still bloodied and bruised, and he kept his head hung low, with his developing mullet obscuring his face. A steaming cup of cocoa sat before him, while Allura stood behind Alfor just to his side. It was a convenient location. It prevented Alfor from falling backward, as he drew on his notebook, but allowed Keith to stay in sight._

_The quiet between them was broken only by Alfor, who hummed his alphabet and various educational nursery rhymes, and occasionally he would scribble his name in backward letters that were barely comprehensible, while Keith – with a trembling lip – complimented him or corrected him with a patient tongue. Coran squeezed his eyes in Allura’s direction. Allura nodded in turn with a smile, as she gently slid Alfor away from Keith and sat between them, and Coran remained opposite with a forced smile that was hard to maintain._

_‘Iverson said he struck James first,’ said Allura._

_Coran slumped forward with a loud groan. He pinched the bridge of his nose, as he glanced up at the clock on the wall that ticked by with a painfully slow speed, and he knew there were still a good few hours before they were due to collect Lance from school. Keith gnawed at his lip, while he played with his fingers and fidgeted where he sat with incomprehensible murmurs, and Coran simply reached across the table with a gloved hand, which he dropped a few inches from Keith with palm upward in open invitation. Coran whispered:_

_‘Why did you do it, lad?’_

_‘James touched my bare arm,’ said Keith. ‘I had to wear a t-shirt, because it was hot. You said that no one gets to touch me without my consent. No one! Iverson gave me detention, but then he said that Shiro wouldn’t have acted like that . . . I – I punched him, too. How can he compare me to Shiro? I’m not like Shiro. I’m not! I – I wouldn’t – I haven’t . . .’_

_‘It’s okay, Keith. We’re going to get you into some anger management classes, okay? I also want you to talk to your therapist about this outburst. It’s okay to be angry, but it’s never okay to hit someone_ because _you’re angry. You only hit in self-defence.’_

_‘It burned when he touched me . . . Shiro just flashed in my head.’_

_‘You’re safe now. No one will touch you, Keith.’_

_Keith glanced to Coran’s hand. He furrowed his brow and pursed his lips, before – with a heaved sigh – dropped his hand onto Coran with a shrug, and Coran smiled as he ran his thumb along the rough material of the fingerless gloves. Keith allowed the touch for a few seconds, before he pulled away and folded his arms across his chest. Coran nodded and pulled away in turn, as he placed both hands flat on his thighs, and asked in a quiet voice:_

_‘How would you feel about home-schooling?’_

_A loud squeak escaped Keith’s lips, as he shot up his head with a smile. It was heart-warming to see how his blue-grey eyes lit up and widened, while he swung his legs a little from the cushioned stool, and – with a glance to Allura – he appeared almost afraid that the offer might be revoked, until she nodded with a smile in turn. A tear pricked at the corner of his eye, until it was rubbed a way with a rough hand. Keith struggled with school. The other students were so physical, so social, so unaware of personal space . . . Keith sniffed._

_‘Who would teach me?’ Keith asked._

_‘I would quit work for a while,’ said Coran. ‘Allura earns more as a paediatrician, so she’ll be able to make sure we have all we need, and – at the weekends – we can do field trips as a family to local museums and parks and landmarks. Allura can teach you science and maths after work, while I can teach you languages and engineering and history . . .’_

_‘What about my sports club and Scouts?’_

_‘You can still do those, too. Actually, I once knew a half-Galra boy who was taken out of school to be home-schooled . . . parents didn’t like an all human education, but couldn’t move back to their home planet without the father losing his position at work. I could arrange for him to join us, maybe turn my study into a classroom, and it could be fun!’_

_‘I’ve never met another Galra before,’ mumbled Keith. ‘Shiro and I had different moms. Does he know I’m half-Galra, too? Can I learn about Galra history? I only know human history and some Altean history. Do you think he would want to be my friend?’_

_‘There’s only one way to find out, eh, lad?’_

_Coran leaned down into his work satchel. He pushed aside the expulsion letters, which Keith would hopefully never know about, and instead removed a few textbooks for geography and physics, with a model engine ready to be taken apart. A mixture of practical with theory, fun with dreary, and maybe Keith would continue to get straight A’s and maybe do even better than such a strict and uniform environment at the Garrison. Coran chirped:_

_‘Today is the first day of a new life.’_

_* * *_

“This arrangement works,” said Zarkon.

He tapped at the timetable. It sat between the claws of his left hand, as he stood tall by the front door with head held high, and – with so many lines and wrinkles – it was impossible to recognise the man that once was known to her as ‘uncle’. Allura held the hand of Alfor at her side, who half-hugged her skirts with his free arm, while he blinked upward to Zarkon with sleepy eyes and hopped from foot to foot in his body-pyjamas.

Zarkon smiled and knelt down, as he patted at Alfor’s head with a callused hand. A loud squeak was the only response, as Alfor buried his head into Allura’s skirts with a blush and both hands clenching hard at the pleats, and – as she apologised – Zarkon simply stood with a laugh and commented that Alfor Senior was also once a shy personality. The sun blasted down from outside the open door behind them; bright beams of light caught at the decorative armour of his outfit, sending rays across the hall and porch. Allura asked:

“Do you think both shall benefit?”

“I think that Lotor will enjoy having his humanities lessons here,” said Zarkon. “We have home-schooled him for so long that he complains about the isolation, while his governess is so strict that I fear he does not act himself in our company, and his friends – although wonderful young women – are exclusively half-Galra from those that stay here on Earth.”

“You – ah – have nothing against mixed relationships, yes?”

“If I did, I would not be married to my one love.” Zarkon smiled and nodded. “I want my boy to know his culture and his heritage, but New Daibazaal and New Altea are both so far away, and I fear the Galra here are becoming more and more diluted. So many do not speak our native tongue, while even less know of the Age of Voltron beyond television.”

“I understand. I experienced very little hardship as a child, but I saw so many children teased and bullied for being different, and so many were afraid to explore their culture for the fear that they would become easier targets to spot. It can difficult to endure.”

“So you will not allow human teaching methods in his classes?”

Allura dropped a hand onto Alfor. The touch of his soft hair was a comfort, as she reminded herself that her children must come first in all things, and – as much as she admired and enjoyed the company of humans – it was better to humour the father of perhaps the only half-Galra boy that would understand Keith. There was already great noise from the lounge, where an old towel was strewn on the floor with a real working engine rested on the cotton, and Lotor could be heard scoffing even as Keith asked question after question.

The test-tubes and Bunsen burner sat on a table out of reach, where they would follow with a brief chemistry lesson after the engineering lesson for Keith, and the rest of the day would be spent engaged in philosophy and literature and geographical studies. Lotor already waited patiently with a small stack of textbooks on his lap, while he sat with rigid back and chin held high, and Allura knew they would do well together. A nod was her only response.

“So long as Keith can take his science classes with Lotor,” said Allura.

“Of course,” said Zarkon. “He will have the best tutors.”

Allura sighed in relief, as she reached down to scoop Alfor into her arms. He mumbled fast and low in her ear with what he thought were quiet whispers, but she caught how Zarkon laughed behind his hand when Alfor loudly murmured how scary he looked, and she could only beg for forgiveness as she carefully chided Alfor into an ‘indoor voice’. Zarkon still held the timetable that would divide Lotor and Keith between two homes, where they would share many lessons with a couple days apart for private lessons between.

“You are a good mother,” said Zarkon.

“Do you think my father would agree?” Allura blinked back tears. “I so often pray to him at night, but I have yet to hear his voice reply in words of comfort. Keith was expelled under my watch, while Lance still idolises the man that so harmed him, and I can only watch as they grow and _hope_ that they will become strong and independent men.”

“Lotor has not experienced such hardship, but he has suffered for my sins. I was an absent father for a long while, lost in grief over a son miscarried before his time, and he feels neglected and unwanted, but . . . it is never too late to fix what has been broken.”

“We do not like to use the word ‘broken’,” said Allura.

Allura buried her head into the crook of Alfor’s neck, while she beamed a bright smile and breathed deep the unique scent that could only belong to a toddler, and she half-missed the days when Lance would equally be caught between baby-wipes and mud-pies. A hand clamped down on her shoulder; Zarkon held the timetable close to his chest, as he bowed his head and smiled a bright smile that cracked the lines at the corner of his mouth. He said:

“I will be back at three to collect him.”

He turned and left towards his black car. The driver climbed out to open the door for him, before he waved back to the house and climbed inside, and Alfor – finally perking up – waved his hand and screamed out ‘bye’ with a bright smile. Allura giggled and waved with him, before gently closing the front door and letting Alfor run towards the lounge. He headed straight for Coran, who spread out an array of paper and paints near the engine.

It was clear today would be a messy day, as Keith and Coran were covered in oil, and even the tight tank-top that Coran wore only served to show oil that streaked his muscular arms, so that – when she stopped to stare – he caught her gaze and winked. Allura blushed and rolled her eyes, only to notice Lance as she walked further into the hall. He was stood behind Lotor with his arms draped over broad shoulders, while whispering with smiles into his ear and seemingly blowing air, while Lotor ignored him to read the textbook in his lap.

The more that Lotor ignored him, the more that Lance flirted. He would stroke at long hair with loud compliments, while sometimes giggling in a way much out of character, and Allura sighed before clearing her throat so loudly that all five faces looked in her direction. A raised hand to Lance signalled him out of the room, while the rest continued in their activities. Lance dragged his feet with a clear sulk, as he groaned and stopped a few feet from Allura.

“You must not disturb their lessons,” she warned.

Lance shrugged, as she gently touched his shoulder. Allura led him into the kitchen, where he sat down on a kitchen stool and stared aimlessly out of the window, and she pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead, while quickly fetching various mixing bowls and utensils. A quick word to Lance had him finding the flour and sugar and various ingredients, while she dropped a cookery book onto the table . . . _one easy enough for a child to help, one complex enough to provide a challenge_. . . the weights would help with his maths skills. Allura asked:

“Why do you flirt with him, Lance?”

“It’s harmless,” said Lance. “It’s not as though I’m doing anything wrong, right? Like, I’m only joking around. I just . . . if you flirt with someone, they tend to touch your arm or stroke your hair or tickle your back. It just feels good to have someone want me. If they act like they want to actually do stuff, I always say ‘no’ and go get help! I wouldn’t let them, honest.”

“Lance, do you do this with adults? It is very easy for an adult to overpower a child. You could be taken or hurt for such flirtations, which worries me for I cannot stand to lose you, and if you flirt too much with other children, it could make them uncomfortable.”

“I only want someone to _hold_ me,” murmured Lance.

“We hug you and kiss you, do we not?”

“It’s not the _same_ ,” he whined. “Everyone is all like ‘oh no, if we touch him then he might think we want to bang him’! No one lets their touch linger for – well – more than a second. I never get touched on the leg or back or neck or arms, but only my head or shoulders like they’re ‘safe places’ without me getting the wrong idea or something. I see them pause, too.

“I wouldn’t ever touch someone in a sexual way, though. It’d feel too much like cheating on Shiro or something, plus I know I could do whatever I wanted to myself, so it’s not like I’d need someone else to do that stuff with, so . . . yeah, I’m not going to _act_ on it! I just –I just want to be held and touched and made to feel loved, but it’s not the same when people are so afraid any time they touch you that they’re going to make you feel bad or whatever.”

“Lance, I – I thought we were doing all we could for you,” whispered Allura. “I thought that we were hugging you more and holding you more, but I never realised we were hesitating or changing in how we behaved compared to be before the abuse. I promise that we shall talk about this in family therapy. I also promise that we will do better.”

Lance shrugged, as he came around the table. He was already measuring out the flour and placing it to one side, before doing the same with all other solid ingredients, and soon the original packets were placed back, while – with a glance to the book for the proper order – he sifted the flour into the bowl. It was clear he needed no help, except perhaps for the oven and icing towards the end, and yet Allura cracked the eggs and stood behind him with arms wrapped around, so that she could fold them in while he sifted. Allura confessed:

“Lance, I am still worried about you.”

He furrowed his brow and put away the sieve. The sugar was soon added, along with vanilla essence and baking powder, and the butter was added last with a fork handed to Allura, who mixed the ingredients together while Lance watched with big blue eyes blinking in surprise, as he cocked his head to the side with a low murmur. It was difficult to mix by hand, even with the butter softened, and so she used the time to stay silent. Lance broke the silence:

“Why are you worried about me?”

“Do you know that it is okay to be intimate with several people?” Allura forced a smile. “I know that children’s films are often very simple, so that the princess falls in love with the first prince she sees and they are happily ever after, but real life is not so simple. Your father once was married before he met me; they even had a child together . . .

“I had several boyfriends as a teenager, too, although we were not intimate. They say on Earth that the average amount of sexual partners per lifetime is between five and eight, while with the Galra this number is between three and five, and even on Altea the number is around three, although for many it is zero or one. It may be that Shiro was physical with you, but that does not mean you cannot be physical – _when grown up_ – with other people.

“If you decide you do not want other sexual partners -? That is fine,” said Allura. “If you decide you want many -? We will support that. I simply ask that you do not act because of Shiro, but because of what _you_ want and what _you_ desire. If you and your partner _both_ consent, that is all that matters and not what anyone else believes.”

“Yeah, but I trust Shiro. How could I trust someone else?”

“Are you still writing letters to him?”

Lance shrugged, as Allura placed the cake mix beside him. He quickly poked his finger into the mix and stole a taste, before pouring the mixture into the cake tin and using a spoon to scoop out the rest, and – as she watched him – she realised that his smile was sincere and he was far more interested in the food than he was in the conversation. Lance sprinkled some food dye on top in a swirling pattern, before using his fork to ingrain the spiral and add some colour to the colourless mixture. He chuckled and sat back with hands on his hips.

“It’s not like I can _send_ my letters,” chirped Lance.

“I will not ask to see them,” said Allura. “They are your private thoughts. I will ask that you show them to your therapist, however, because it is important that someone professionally trained – that understands your situation – can advise you in how you feel about such matters. It worries me that you feel you cannot trust other people, Lance.”

“Only with like sex stuff, but I’m too young for that anyway.”

“Then better we deal with it now for when you _are_ ready.”

He furrowed his brow again and shrugged, while Allura put the cake into the oven with a loud sigh, and he swung his legs over the stool while bouncing his head from side to side with some unheard tune that was half-lost on his lips. There was no point in pressing matters. Coran would explain to Lance not to flirt with people unreceptive to his flirting, as well as adults while still just a child, and his therapist would help him to uncover the root of his issues and find better coping mechanisms. Allura spun around with a sigh and asked:

“Will you come help me cook dinner?”

Lance jumped to his feet with a laugh. He was already by the vegetable bin, taking out the raw materials to be washed and pealed, and Allura felt a surge of relief that he could still live a normal life, even if he acted sexually beyond his years. Keith let out a rare laugh from the room next door, as Lotor made some stray observation or joke, and Alfor squealed out in pride at his new drawing as Coran praised both sons for their work. It felt good.

“Always happy to help,” chirped Lance.

 


	6. Chapter 6

“Lance, come here!”

Coran stood tall in the doorway. He kept his head high and arms crossed, as he hoped to maintain a somewhat stern façade, but – each time Allura glanced to him – little chuckles echoed out and his shoulders would sag in response. Coran instead smiled and the giggles died away, as Allura pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek and whispered: ‘ _you never could be angry with him, let alone pretend’_. He smiled and kissed her back.

They stood together, with hands clasped between them. Lance strolled past with a yawn, as he rubbed at his eyes and cricked his neck, and his pyjamas stood a good few inches too short on his limbs, as his growth spurt hit and his body changed. He bore a deeper voice, while he grew more temperamental by the day, and Coran struggled to comprehend how this eleven-year old boy could be the same baby he once cradled in his arms, but the love was sill the same and the emotion still overwhelmed him. Lance would always be his little boy.

Lance came over with hair still mussed from sleep. The lines from his pillow were still present on his cheek, while a spot of dried drool say on his chin. Coran chuckled and signalled him over to the sofa, where Lance plopped down next to Allura and dropped his head onto her lap, where she stroked at his hair and half-lulled him into another sleep. It was adorable to watch, as Coran took a seat on the armchair just to her side.

“What’s up?” Lance asked. “Have I done something wrong?”

“No, no at all,” lied Allura.

“Actually, yes, muttered Coran. “Lance, I know you still miss Shiro. It’s okay to miss someone that you loved very much, just long as – ah – you _know_ what he did was very wrong, but today Shay told us something very worrying . . . you see, any letters from you are against prison rules, and so they were sent straight to Shay. You’ve been writing to Shiro?”

Lance blinked and looked to Coran. He pulled himself upright, while he rubbed at his eyes with a narrowed gaze, and his lips pursed while nostrils flared, as a dark blush overtook his cheeks and he folded his arms across his small chest. Allura draped an arm over her shoulders, while occasionally glancing to the doors to make sure that Alfor and Keith were eating breakfast and not eavesdropping on an already awkward conversation.

“Shay had no right to tell you,” spat Lance.

 _It was not a denial_. Coran winced and pinched the bridge of his nose, while he dropped backwards in his chair with a low moan deep from his throat, and he could only blink back tears as he drew in a deep breath in the warm lounge. The weather was warm, enough that a sticky sweat broke out under his arms, but he could only feign a bright smile even as the letters in his pocket pressed against his chest. He angled his body toward Lance, as Allura pulled him against her side with a gentle squeeze. Coran asked in a whisper:

“So you _have_ been writing letters to Shiro?”

Lance rolled his eyes, as he wrapped his arms around Allura’s waist. A gloved hand rested on  his hand and brushed at his hair, while he sniffed and hiccupped and glared at the floor without a single word, until Coran reached into his inside pocket and dropped the stack of letters onto the coffee table. Lance turned white. He shot out his hand and snatched them toward him, before gripping them tight against him with a shouted:

“I write to him every week, but I only sent those few!”

“Oh Lance,” whispered Allura. “Why?”

“I just miss him,” muttered Lance. “I wanted to know why he couldn’t wait for me, you know? If he – like – was in love with me or something, why couldn’t he wait for when I turned sixteen? I hate this. I hate that I did stuff so early, because I would have rather have waited until I was older, but I also really liked what he did, so . . . yeah . . . I wanted him to know I didn’t hate him, but I wasn’t allow to see him and I had questions, that’s all.”

“So you have questions? If you have questions, _maybe_ – if it is considered constructive by Romelle and Shay – we could arrange for you to speak to Shiro in person. It would be highly supervised, but you could ask him why he hurt you and get such answers.”

“I – I want to talk to him alone.” Lance blushed. “A few of the questions are really embarrassing, plus I don’t want people to hear about some of our memories, because those are just _our_ memories, so . . . yeah . . . I also don’t want people judging me for how I react or what I choose to ask or treating me like a psychoanalytical puzzle.”

“Lance, do you understand why we are concerned?” Coran asked. “It sounds very much like you are confused. A part of you sounds like it hates what Shiro did, because he abused you before you understood what was happening to you, and a part of you sounds like it loves Shiro, because he was kind to you and made you feel good. If you write letters to Shiro, it means . . . it means you haven’t let go of him and still want him around.”

Lance sat cross-legged on the sofa. He dropped his hands onto his lap, where all the letters lay opened and read by both guards and social workers, and – as far as Coran knew – only one was received and read by Shiro, who promptly handed it to the police to avoid being found with a prohibited item. The first was the one that provided most concern. It spoke about a love that still lingered, along with many questions about what happened and why it happened and why it couldn’t wait until he was older. Lance asked in a quiet voice:

“Why would it be bad if I _did_ want him around?”

He traced a finger over the words on the letters, while a broken smile crossed his lips and struggled to reach his eyes, and – with a long sigh – he threw himself back onto the cushions with eyes shimmering and tears beading at the corners. Allura continued to stroke at his hair, while Alfor ran past with a loud ‘hello’ on his way to the kitchen, while Keith chased after him with muttered complaints and a baby-wipe to clean off some mess or other.

“He did this to you, Lance,” whispered Coran.

Lance continued to hold onto the letters. They crinkled in his hands with a familiar sound, while his smile faded completely from sight and a frown overtook his features, and he closed his eyes as his head leaned back so that – as his eyes reopened – he could stare aimlessly at the ceiling above with an unusual coldness. Allura signalled to Coran with a slight squeeze of her eyes, as he nodded back with a warm tear rolling down his cheek, and together they remained quiet and let Lance soak in the words said, until Allura asked:

“Why do you want Shiro, my love?”

“I guess – I guess because I _really_ want to be hugged and held,” said Lance. “I just get scared whenever people touch me back or are really nice to me . . . I really want it, I do, but then people started hugging me and touching me without thinking I’ll break and -! I don’t know, Mom! I don’t know. I just know that I’m scared that I feel sick when I feel good. If someone makes me feel funny, I get sick in my throat and it makes me feel ashamed.

“Even if they’re just being normal and I don’t feel funny, I still feel like they’re doing something wrong by just being nice, because . . . because Shiro was just being nice, too, but what he was doing was _wrong_. I guess it’s difficult to understand. _I_ don’t understand! I don’t want to be abused again or hurt by people, but they _aren’t_ hurting or abusing me.

“It’s confusing, because if Shiro could use hugs and touches to lead into something more . . . well . . . what’s to stop other people doing the same thing? Plus, people keep criticising me when I flirt with people, when I’m just trying to get them to pay me attention, and that worked with Shiro and getting his attention, but no one criticised me for when I flirted with Shiro. They just said I was young and it wasn’t my fault.”

“It _wasn’t_ your fault,” swore Allura.

“Okay, so why do I get told off for flirting with Lotor or Plaxum, but no one tells me off for when I flirted with Shiro? I don’t understand when it’s bad or when it’s good. I don’t understand how I can want to be touched and still be scared of being touched. I don’t – I don’t understand why it’s okay to _want_ Shiro, but not to be _with_ Shiro. I feel normal with Hunk and Katie and Matt, but I know I’m not . . . I know they don’t have those memories.”

Lance climbed down off the sofa. He walked over to the window, where he sat on the same windowsill where he would sit as a child to wait for Shiro, and – with fingers parting open the blinds – he smiled and glanced around the flourishing garden, where the flowers planted by Keith and Lotor grew at rather high heights. The letters were still clutched in his hand, even as he swung a leg over the side with the toes now scratching the floor. Allura walked to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder, as she whispered to him:

“Why don’t we contact Romelle and –”

The reaction was instantaneous. A quick push knocked away her hand, as he jumped to his feet and stood staring up with reddened cheeks, and – with hands fisted at his sides – rage coursed through every vein, until Coran stood in a mild panic with hands raised. Lance was far from a violent personality, but there were already tears spilling down his cheeks as he took in great gulps of breath and pushed past Allura to run towards the doors.

“It’s always therapy with you guys,” spat Lance.

“Therapy is there to help you, Lance.”

“Yeah, but it _doesn’t_ help me.” Lance kicked at the floor. “It’s always _talking, talking, and more talking_! I can only talk so much before there’s nothing else left to say, and how does talking make the pain and confusion go away? I’ve felt much better talking to people online than I have with Romelle, because they’ve _been_ through it and they _understand_ why it’s so mind-blowingly horrid to have your brain feel like it’s going to implode!

“Okay, Romelle helped at first, because it helped me to think properly and see things for what they are, but what good is it to go _over and over_ the same things, and why is it that I have to spend week after week in a place I don’t want to be? I – I hate it! Keith gets on so well, so everyone thinks it’s the best thing ever, but that doesn’t make it the best thing for me!”

“Why don’t we try a different therapist or type of therapy? We could –”

“ _You’re not listening to me_!” Lance blinked back the tears. “I don’t want to keep on talking. I just want to forget and be around people like me, maybe get some answers and maybe confront Shiro, and the rest I can deal with alone. I’ll get better in _my_ time.”

“Lance, you’re still young and you still –”

“I’m old enough to know that this _isn’t_ working!”

Keith and Alfor appeared behind Lance in the hall; Alfor clutched his hands to his mouth, as his lips trembled and a low moan escaped his mouth, and Keith simply glared daggers at the back of Lance’s head, as he pulled Alfor close to him with hand rested comfortingly on the small head of the young child. Lance winced and glanced over his shoulder . . . _shame and judgement_. . . Coran swallowed hard, as he knew this would not help matters.

“Forget it,” spat Lance. “Just forget it!”

He ran towards the staircase, before disappearing out of sight. The sound of his feet pounded hard on each and every step, until the bedroom door slammed shut behind him, and the sound of rock music flooded the house with a heavy bass blasting through the floor. Keith rolled his eyes and took Alfor away for breakfast, while Allura stood alone with Coran, and together – with saddened frowns – they held each other close and said nothing as they strove to find words that could express their pain. Allura let out a shuddered sigh and asked:

“What do we do now?”

“I guess we talk to Romelle,” whispered Coran. “It may be better to take him out of therapy for a while, but there may be support groups that Romelle can recommend instead. If not, we can get Lance out more with kids his age . . . clubs, hobbies, play-dates . . .”

“I’m worried, Coran. He seems so lost . . . so confused . . .”

“He just needs time,” lied Coran.

Coran breathed deep the scent of her perfume. He remembered so much through the years . . . _Lance taking his first steps towards him, Lance calling out ‘Papa’ from a bad dream, Lance writing ‘I love you’ on a father’s day card . . ._ it was hard to see him in such pain, unable to make it go away and knowing that talking about it was only making him relive it, and Coran let out a choked sob as he gripped tight to Allura and swore:

“He just needs some time.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

Keith patiently waited.

He leaned against the doorway, while Lance pulled on an old shirt. A ray of light shone through the windows, where it caught at his skin and gave the brown hue a nice glow, and – as Lance slowly dressed – Keith noted a complete lack of scars on his frame. The satchel at his feet was stuffed with notepads and pens, while a stack of envelopes sat on his bedside table on top of a personal computer, and a familiar scent of cologne permeated every corner.

It was the same cologne that Shiro used to wear. Keith still lacked the courage to tell Coran, who bought the expensive fragrance a gift on Lance’s request for his twelfth birthday, but some days . . . when Keith wandered half asleep to the bathroom . . . it was enough to bring bile to his lips and sick into the toilet bowl. He watched as Lance finally dressed, before – with a sigh – Lance busied himself with accessories and cologne and beauty products, as if his appearance were more important than a punctual arrival on their first day of school.

“You have to get ready for class,” said Keith.

Lance rolled his eyes and huffed. A loud cry rang out from below, as Alfor screamed that they were going to be late, before – with a sigh – someone lightly tapped the back of his head and muttered something like: ‘I could’ve done that’. Alfor laughed and ran away, while Coran yelled upstairs the same warning word-for-word. Keith smiled and shrugged. It took a while for Lance to finish applying the make-up to hide his few zits, before puckering up before a mirror with some lip-balm, and he barely looked to Keith as he asked:

“I thought they were home-schooling you?”

“Yeah, well, you thought wrong,” said Keith. “Mom and Papa wanted me to try school again, which – yeah – they said they told you all about . . . were you not listening or something? I swear it’s like all you ever do is just play video games and write letters. You need to get your head out your ass, Lance. Do you think – for once – it won’t all be about you?”

“All about me? Fuck you, dude.” Lance turned with hands on his hips. “Do you know all that I hear is how great Keith is and how well Keith is coping and how good Keith’s grades are, while I’m trying my best at the garrison and still coming up short!”

“You could be a cargo pilot or something.”

“I want to be a doctor or a fireman or a professor! I want to do something great, as Shiro always said I could be great, but I always come up short . . . I always fail compared to _you_. I don’t know, man. It’s like – It’s like they’re trying to replace me! You even call them ‘Mom’ and ‘Papa’ now, but those are _my_ words for _my_ parents. Aren’t I good enough?”

Lance pouted and stared at the carpet. The room was a mess, with clothes discarded across the floor and books littering every surface, and framed photographs lined the walls of everyone from Alfor Senior to Kalternecker, but a few of Shiro were hidden in far corners. It was like a map of his life, as – finally dressed – Lance snatched up his satchel and flung it over his shoulder, before marching out into the hallway. Keith grabbed at his wrist. Lance swung around and yanked back his arm, before glaring with watery eyes at Keith.

“I’m sorry, Lance,” said Keith.

They stood in silence, as Alfor poked his head up over the top step. He rested his chin on the carpet and pulled faces at them with strange sounds, before – with a giggle – warning them they would be late and throwing a water balloon in their direction, and he soon disappeared again from sight, as Lance screamed at him to go away until his face turned red. Allura merely yelled back to be nice to their baby brother. Alfor laughed again.

A low sigh escaped Lance’s throat. He fell forward and hunched his shoulders, while he ran his hands over his face and through his hair, and – with a groan – he threw back his head and turned with a shrug towards Keith, as he furrowed his brow. A cold draught blew from an open window, while Keith shuddered and wrapped his arms about his frame, but Lance appeared unbothered by the slight breeze and simply blinked back tears. There was a tremble to his lip, as he visibly swallowed back a lump in his throat and looked away.

“You’re always sorry,” spat Lance.

“Look, what do you want me to do?” Keith asked. “I’m doing all I can!”

“They were all excited when I got into the Garrison Junior-High. Papa got me the video-game I wanted and Mom baked me the best pizza ever, but then _you_ were like ‘oh, I’m off to a public school’ and then – then – then they _worshipped_ you! They forgot about me.”

“That’s not how I remember it, Lance. I remember them making time for _both_ of us, because me going back to school was a big deal . . . I know it’s just a public school, with metal detectors and computers still running Windows 2000, but it’s – it’s the first time I’ve felt like I have my anger issues under control and that I could be alright around other kids. I just want to be like a normal kid, Lance. It’s also a big deal for Lotor, as he’s always been –”

“– home-schooled?” Lance scoffed. “I – I’m happy for you, Keith. I really am. I think it’ll be great to make new friends and be out in the real world and learn to socialise more, and I think it’ll be good for Lotor to meet people that aren’t – well – just Altean or Galra. I just want to know why _now_? Why when I was doing this really awesome thing? Why?”

“Huh, Shiro really did a number on you, huh?” Keith rolled his eyes. “He made everything so much about you that you can’t even bear to share the limelight! It’s like the earth revolves around you, and any time anyone says otherwise like you think they’re insulting Shiro and –”

“They are insulting Shiro! He made a lot of good points, Keith.”

“He also fucking _raped_ us, Lance!”

Keith clenched his fists until knuckles turned white. He drew in a deep breath, until chest expanded, and – slowly exhaling – he unclenched his hands and counted to ten, even as his heart raced with such thunderous beats that it drowned out all other sounds. Lance paled and stepped back towards the staircase, where he collapsed back against the wall and slid down until he fell on the landing with a thud. A cold silence fell between them, as Keith sulked over and dropped down onto the top step just beside him without a single word.

“He raped _you_ ,” muttered Lance.

Coran appeared with a smile at the bend in the staircase; Keith waved a hand to him with a half-smile, as he nodded to Lance, and Coran – with a trembling lip – nodded politely to his sons and quickly darted away to give them privacy. A low shuddered sigh escaped Lance’s lips, as he pulled his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. It was strange. Keith could not remember the last time Lance was so silent, but there was something between them never before addressed and it was time to face the truth. Lance sniffed.

“Yeah, he raped me,” said Keith.

“I hate him for that, honest,” mumbled Lance. “I hate he – _I_ – hurt you.”

“You didn’t know right from wrong. You were just a kid.” Keith shrugged. “I don’t hold it against you, which is why I never told them you . . . you were the one to rape me. You just thought it felt good and that it was a ‘punishment’ for me, like being spanked or grounded, so how can I hate you? He’s the one that lied to you and manipulated you, but you were just the tool he used to make me feel bad, because . . . because _he’s_ the broken one.

“You also weren’t the one he frotted against when he thought you were asleep. You weren’t the one who he nearly let a flight attendant rape for shits and giggles. You weren’t the one choking on his cock until you nearly fainted. He – He spanked me and pissed on me and once made me eat shit, because that’s how he punished me for nearly telling people . . .

“If I tried to get help, he’d make you rape me. It was like if he wasn’t actually sticking his dick into me, he could pretend he wasn’t sexually assaulting me or abusing me, and he could go to you and make you say ‘yes’ and that was his version of ‘consent’. You know I once stole some bleach from the bathroom? I hid it under my bed. I was going to drink it until Coran got me to tell him about the abuse and saved me. He saved my life, Lance.”

“Holy shit,” whispered Lance. “I – I didn’t know . . . honest.”

“I was just a kid and wasn’t sure how else to do it, but I saw an advert warning adults not to leave bleach around as it killed kids and. . . I just wanted to _escape_. I don’t want to get into who had it worse, because everyone reacts differently to this shit, and I’ve learnt that all emotions and response are valid, but our _actions_ -? We can control those. If I’m angry, I can not punch people. If you miss Shiro, you can still learn to let him go.”

A tear ran down Lance’s cheek. It touched on his lip, as he licked it away with a shaking smile, and his eyes shimmered with tears that distorted his pupils, until Keith could only reach out and – with a flinch – drop a hand onto a clothed knee. The part of the leg seemed neutral, with no skin-to-skin contact, and he squeezed much as he remembered adults doing to him when they wanted him to feel safe. Lance sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve, as he smiled to Keith and leaned forward towards him. Keith whispered:

“You have to move _on_ , Lance.”

“I’m moving on fine,” muttered Lance. “I’m still writing him letters, but it’s not like love-letters or anything. I’m just telling him how I feel and asking questions and sometimes ranting at him, but I never send them to him . . . I’m just _stuck_ , because I don’t understand _why_ and it’s bouncing around my head like crazy. I can’t . . . I can’t let it go.”

“So what happens when he gets released? Are you going to give him the letters? Burn them? I want you to think about this, Lance. You know what he did was wrong in your brain, but what about in your heart? What if he tells you he’s changed and says sorry? What then?”

“What if he _has_ changed? What if he just needs a friend to help him?”

“He should have thought of that _before_ raping children!”

Keith jerked his hand away. He climbed to his feet and paced, while Lance returned to hugging his legs with a low squeak that spoke of fear, and – with acid burning his tongue – Keith swung around and stared at the twelve-year old that could still well have been the seven-year old in the midst of the abuse. Lance curled in on himself, with his buried between his knees, and his hands played with the stitching of his trousers with tiny movements, as he murmured incoherent words and muttered occasional apologies. Keith swallowed hard.

“He deserves to be punished,” spat Keith.

“You think?” Lance shook his head. “If we punish someone forever and ever, isn’t that – like – worse than the crime? It’s like the humans with ‘hell’, because at some point you’ve paid off your karmic debt and you’re instead just relishing in the idea of hurting a person, and isn’t that just as bad as the person who hurt you? Why can’t they get better? Why can’t they be good and be sorry? If he’s truly changed, I want to support him!”

“People like him _don’t_ change, Lance! They just say what they think you want to hear, so you forgive them and let your guard down, and then they take their time to build your trust and fuck you over all over again. It’s a cycle. The first time he makes you feel bad, he’ll say sorry, and then you’ll forgive him, and he’ll do it again . . . and again . . . _and again_!”

“So we’re just born bad or good and we can never change?”

“Do you know what he did to me?” Keith blinked back tears. “I still get nightmares. I still wake up in sweats and tears and feeling his hands all over me, and I still cry myself to sleep some night, because . . . because I’m scared that I’ll see him in my dreams. I still flinch when people touch me. I still can’t be alone with most men without having panic attacks.

“Zarkon once asked me into his office, as he wanted to talk about how my grades were doing so well with the tutor, but I just – I just . . . I don’t know . . . I started weeping and I couldn’t stop, as I kept looking at how he sat down and thought about how Shiro would sit _just_ like that when he wanted me to jerk him off . . . I nearly passed out. You didn’t do that to me. I didn’t do that to me. _Shiro did that to me_! How can you say he deserves forgiveness?”

Keith turned and slapped the wall. He pulled back at the last minute, although the loud slamming sound caused Lance to wince and look away, but he left no marks on the paint or dents in the plaster, and – in fact – the remnants of the last hole were far lower and still hidden well with a new layer of plaster after so many years. The rage still coursed through him, as a cold sweat broke over his skin, but he knew that _he_ had control. He was in charge of his actions. Keith drew in a deep breath of pride, as he forced himself to calm down.

“I’m learning to accept myself,” said Keith. “I’m learning to accept my past. Okay, so I might have been raped by him, but there’s still so much I have to share! He won’t ever get to know what it feels like when I reciprocate, or see me laugh until I cry, or know the secrets I whisper to friends when I trust them. I’m scarred, but I’m not broken. I’m still _me_.”

“Yeah, my therapist said that scars are just reminders that the past was real. We can have them on our bodies and hearts, but we have to use them to remember: ‘I survived’. It’s not a bad thing, but just proof we went through shit and came out stronger. We survived.”

“No, _I_ survived. I’m starting to think a part of you is still with Shiro.”

“That’s pretty low, dude. I went through a lot, too!”

“You’re right,” said Keith. “So why do I see you making the same mistakes over and over again like it’s the first time? I’m scared that you’re going to marry a total villain. I worry that some guy will say ‘sorry’, while treating you like a prince the rest of the time, and you’ll let him smack you around or rape you, because . . . because he’s otherwise so nice.”

The silence returned. Keith groaned and stood over Lance, before he blushed and fussed around in his pocket, and – with a muttered apology – dropped a homemade friendship bracelet beside him with their names written onto the red and blue threads. There was no response for a long while, until Lance reached out with a trembling hand and grabbed at the soft fabric and pulled it close to his chest. Keith finally let out a long exhale and smiled, as he dropped down before Keith and clasped a hand on his should. He whispered:

“You deserve better than to be someone’s victim.”

Keith turned and walked down the first part of the staircase, until he stopped on the middle landing, and – at the end of the hall – he saw Coran standing by the front door, with Alfor in school uniform with tiny hands grasping at Coran’s leather belt, as he babbled aimlessly and tried to pull his father towards the car outside. The world went on around them. Allura sang from the kitchen, as she enjoyed a rare day off from work, while the scent of pancakes drifted through the air ready to be snatched up in to-go trays for the journey.

He turned back to look at Lance. The bracelet was already on a small wrist, as Lance stood in Garrison uniform with a sniff and a smile, and – with a frown – Keith recognised that expression all too well from the years . . . ‘if I smile, no one will know how much I hurt’. Keith reached out a hand for Lance to take, but Lance shook his head and ran down the stairs straight for the front door. The tearstains were still wet on his cheeks.

Lance said nothing.


	8. Chapter 8

“Wonderful,” chirped Allura.

The phone left a small imprint against her skin. It was pressed awkwardly between shoulder and head, as she fussed about with the various papers scattered over the kitchen table, where Coran – with a speck of butter falling from his toast – reached out for a brochure. A small ‘ _ah’_ escaped her lips, as she quickly flipped the pages and tapped the one with the listing circled in red pen, and she pressed a kiss to his forehead and finished on the phone with:

“Thank you so much, Zarkon.”

Allura finally ended the connection, as she returned the phone to its charging port, and – darting back to the table – she noticed the two beams on either side of the back-door, where each one marked off various milestones and ages in Alfor and Lance’s height. They added Keith to the door itself, where his was carved into the wood by his hand, and Allura smiled to see the lives of their children recorded for the new owners to witness on arrival.

The letter from Shay sat between them. It lay on top several by the police and solicitors, while both strove to ignore them and focus only on the more positive photographs and contracts and offers, and Coran stroked his moustache as he furrowed his brow. He flicked the page to see an array of photographs on the other side . . . _floor-to-ceiling windows, views of the Garrison premises and city skyline, a private balcony with room for a barbeque_. . . a frown crossed his features, as he pursed his lips and asked:

“Is our Keith coping okay?”                                           

Allura slid onto a stool beside him, before entwining together their hands. The touch of his gloved digits grounded her in the moment, as she leaned her head on his shoulder and watched him flick through the brochure until finding another detached property, and she winced when he hummed in interest despite the red cross through its photograph. Coran turned and pressed a kiss to her white hair, as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and his lip trembled. He choked out in barely a whisper:

“Please, tell me he’s okay?”

“He is still rather distraught. Zarkon says he endures a panic attack any time they suggest returning home, as he fears that Shiro may return or wait for him, and – no matter how much they try to explain – it seems the idea of a ‘restraining order’ is too much for a fourteen-year old to comprehend. He says it is merely a piece of paper.”

“Well, he’s not wrong.” Coran winced. “Is a piece of paper going to physically stop Shiro? If Shiro wants to break in through a window, or camp out on the lawn, a piece of paper wouldn’t stop that or protect Keith. Shiro knows where he _lives_ , Allura.”

“So he is to stay with Zarkon forever?” Allura wagged a finger toward Coran. “I will _not_ have that monster tearing apart our family! I will not have Keith counting cars from the living room window. I will not have Keith staring with insomnia at the bedroom ceiling. I will not have Keith jumping any time Alfor drops a pen. I think – I think this move is best for us, Coran. I have been looking at apartment complexes, something surrounded by people . . .”

Coran ran his fingers over the picture of a house. It was beautiful, complete with a hot-tub on the large veranda and with a conservatory stacked with exotic flowers, and the lawn appeared to expand forever into the distance, where a playground set could be seen complete with a tree-house not far from the white picket-fence. Allura winced and flipped back the page to another one of the apartments. Coran sighed and dropped his head forward, while he stroked at her hair with a free hand and let her drop onto his lap with fidgeting gestures.

“Lance and Alfor love our garden,” whispered Coran.

The cold truth lay between them . . . _Alfor running inside after scraping his knee climbing the shed, Coran covered in mud after an afternoon planting seeds, Lance laughing with Hunk and Pidge from his swing-set . . ._ Allura would never know how tall the apple tree would grow, just as Alfor would never get to try the apple crumble baked with the anticipated treats that would fall in the following autumn. It was a necessary sacrifice.

“I know,” said Allura.

“I suppose we also can’t have Keith living in fear.”

“I – I saw a penthouse apartment in our price range.” Allura blinked back tears. “The sale of this house covers the cost of the entire mortgage, and the yearly maintenance fees would be a steal and easily covered by my wages. It would be too high for Shiro to break in through a window, while the doormen and gated community and security guards would stop anyone from coming in through other means, and it’s in a _delightful_ area, too.”

“Alfor has friends in this neighbourhood, my love. Lance has his clubs here in walking distance. I just – I just resent that _we_ have to move away to make Keith feel safe, because _we_ weren’t the ones to break the law or harm a child! It should be up to Shiro to move. Why – Why is he allowed to stay in town? This – This isn’t _fair_. I – I just – I can’t . . .”

“The apartment is walking distance of the Garrison, Coran. You could walk Lance to school, while I can run Keith to a breakfast club so that I can still get to work on time and he can avoid the school bus, but Zarkon has also offered to do school runs.”

“Why is Shiro doing this to Keith? How can he still hurt him?”

“I – I don’t know, but we must do all we can to keep Keith safe. Let me make the calls to the estate agent now, so that we can _hopefully_ move in within the next few weeks, and – in the meantime – I think one of us should stay with Keith. Zarkon has a five-bedroom house with now only three bedrooms used, while one of us can deal with Alfor and Lance alone.”

Coran ran his hands over his face. The letter between them listed Shiro’s address, located half-a-mile away and far further than the necessary hundred feet, and – along the rumour mill – Allura knew the new apartment was purchased with money from his family home, which meant Keith would lose out on an inheritance that to contest would mean remaining in further contact. A few tears pricked at Coran’s eyes, as he flushed a dark shade of red.

“So Shiro succeeds in breaking us apart,” mumbled Coran.

He pulled away and walked over to the fridge; photographs were tacked on with home-made magnets by Alfor, with one of Keith caught in a headlock by a laughing Lance, and he pressed his fingertip to their smiling expressions with a visible swallow. Allura stood and came behind him, as she wrapped her arms around her waist and buried her face into the crook of his neck with gentle kisses. The birds chirped from outside. It would be impossible to hear them in the city over the roars of engines and crowds. Allura said:

“It is a necessary evil to protect our children.”

“I – I think I should go,” said Coran. “Let me take Alfor, too. Keith has always trusted me, while having Alfor there will continue the sense of family and consistency, and – well – I think Lance gets on much better with you than me. He’ll be resentful about this, because he’ll say that Keith is getting priority and that we’re moving just for Keith and he’ll not want to move home . . . _‘oh, so no one cares that I want to stay, huh?’_. . .

“If you’re still here, you can talk to him. He might come around. We could – ah – stage it so that we’re doing it for his benefit? We’ll be closer to the Garrison. The dance studio is in the city centre, too, so that will be better for him . . . it might make him feel better? I – I don’t want him blaming Keith for a perfectly normal reaction. That’s all.”

“I will have words with him, I promise,” swore Allura.

“In the meantime, have you seen the letter?”

Coran nodded over to the table. A letter from Shay sat with a red ‘important’ stamped on the opened envelope, where several forms were attached and a small stack of ‘evidence’, and Allura frowned at the memory of all those emails and wall posts and ‘nudges’ sent to the same account and documented forever in various records. Coran pulled back toward the cupboards, where he yanked out the few remaining mugs not yet packed away, and nudged a box with his foot and a muttered ‘quiznak’. Allura choked out:

“Shay and Romelle told me, yes.”

The hands about reached for him were gently knocked away, as he busied himself with boiling the kettle and waiting for the familiar click to pour out the liquid, and Allura winced to realise that intimacy between them was strained as of late. Shay once warned that parenting an abused child was a difficult task . . . opinions would be divided, emotions would run high . . . Allura hugged herself with tears forming in her eyes, as she turned to her husband and watched as he made two cups of tea with head hung low. Allura whispered:

“What do we do, Coran?”

“Well, I’m glad that Shiro told his probation officer,” muttered Coran. “It may be a sign that he’ll keep his distance, but equally I don’t like that Lance is still trying to get in touch with him, because . . . because it means he’s still stuck in the past, doesn’t it? He’s – He’s still not over it. _Ah_ , not that one does ‘get over it’, but I feel like he’s – he’s – he’s not going _forward_ , but still seeking validation from Shiro. It’s like he’s . . . brainwashed.”

“I think he seeks answers,” confessed Allura. “I do not think he fails to understand the depths of the situation, or seeks to return to what he once had, but merely that he wants answers and is in love with the idea of love. He hopes that Shiro has improved and grown and is worthy of forgiveness, and – as such – is in love with the ideal of Shiro and not the reality.

“I thought that – well – maybe we could install an application onto his devices. I would rather not downgrade his phone or place the only computer in a family room, simply as the boys have a heavy workload for school and it may encourage them to be more secretive, but an application could allow us to watch what he does on social media and what sites he visits. It would let us know if he does try to contact Shiro again, as well as stop him if he does.”

Coran took the kettle from the stand and slammed it down. A splash of hot water erupted from the spout, enough to scald his hand and bring him to the cold tap, and Allura moved over to him and gently held him by his palm, as she angled the wound underneath the cold stream and pressed a kiss to his cheek. The skin was wet. There were tears marking lines down his cheeks, while his chest heaved with silent wracked sobs, and she knew that he was striving to be strong for her sake. Allura pulled his hand to her lips.

“That seems an invasion of his privacy,” muttered Coran.

“We have tried everything, Husband!” Allura dabbed at her tears. “We tried therapy. We tried support groups. We tried every technique in every book, including the things that contradicted other things, and I’m at my wits’ end! I am scared, Coran. Please . . .”

“I suppose it could be worth a try. What have we left to lose?”

“Lance. We have Lance left to lose.”

Allura shook her head and walked toward the mugs. The water poured easily into each one, as she allowed the tea to stew and removed the bags, and – as she hunched over and cried in turn – two muscular arms came around her waist and poured forth the milk. Coran finished the simple task, before holding her flush against him and kissing her cheek, as he murmured a brief apology and Allura whispered one back, and together they held each other and cried, while the phone rang in the room adjacent. Allura pleaded:

“I cannot lose my boy, Coran.”

The two mugs sat steaming before them, as Coran’s arms trembled. Allura turned around to face him, with vision blurred with unshed tears and the taste of salt on her lips, and – reaching to cup his cheeks – he broke down and collapsed against her, as he gripped onto the back of her dress with such strength that the seams tore and the pressure brought an ache to her back. He pressed his face into the crook of her neck, with tears running over her skin.

Coran finally wept.

 


	9. Chapter 9

“Boo,” cried Alfor.

The box ripped open, as Alfor jumped out from inside. Coran feigned a loud gasp on sight of the seven-year old, while clasping at his heart and stumbling backward, and – as Alfor let out a loud laugh – Coran spun around in a circle, before he dropped onto the floor and shook his whole body and fell finally still. He struggled to hold back a few chuckles, as Alfor gasped and ran over to him and started shaking his chest. It was a rather firm shake.

Coran waited . . . waited . . . just before Alfor could get too upset, he jumped up with a loud _roar_ , and pulled the strangest face that was physically possible. Alfor squealed in delight and ran into the new lounge. He hid behind his new ‘fort’. Keith stood hunched over with a sigh of frustration, as he put back the largest box above the ‘arched’ doorway, while Alfor giggled and chuckled as if no one could hear him, while occasionally poking his head over the boxes so that he could throw soft toys toward Coran while making a big mess.

Allura sighed from the open kitchen, which overlooked the entire lounge. The blue of her dress was emphasised against the white and silver décor, without a single room containing a hint of colour or life, and yet – as the various paint samples lined up along the counter – he smiled to see a streak of green and red on different parts of the wall. Alfor shouted ‘try the yellow’ from his fort, before he dunked back down and chucked another toy. Allura called:

“Could you check on Lance, my love?”

Coran groaned and struggled to his feet. The ache in his back made it clear that playing around was a bad idea, as his lower sides throbbed and a stabbing pain erupted between his shoulder blades, and – with a crick and a bend – he waved to Allura and gave a thumbs up with a gloved hand. Allura smiled and nodded, before uncapping the yellow pot. A plush toy of an elephant struck his face. Coran winced and turned to see Alfor ducking back down, while crying out ‘sorry, Papa’, although it failed to stop another being thrown.

“Alfor, if you throw one more of those toys -!” Coran pinched the bridge of his nose. “I – I’ll take each and every one, and then sit them down and _force_ them all to watch a marathon of documentaries on the History Channel! You’ll have to babysit them, too!”

“No,” whined Alfor. “That’s too mean! I hate those shows. _No_!”

“Well, you better tell them to behave then, won’t you?”

Alfor pouted and sniffed. The tears inevitably came, as Allura slammed a pot down with a muttered ‘quiznak’, and Keith simply groaned and threw back his head with a hand running over his face, before he picked up two of the toys and made them dance. It soon stopped the cries from Alfor, who even started laughing when Keith mimed a strange conversation that went from ‘dancing platypus’ to ‘murder victim’ with packaging tape outlining the body, as Alfor tried to find the killer among all other teddies strewn across the floor.

It was all the distraction that Coran needed, as he sprinted up the spiral staircase. He dashed by the various bedrooms, until he found Lance at the very end sitting on the plastic that covered the floor, and the stench of paint – barely fading through the opened windows – was strong enough to make Coran a little nauseous. The blue looked great, especially when Lance did most of the work alone. It still streaked his brown locks. Coran chirped:

“Taking a break, m’boy?”

Lance spun around. Tears ran down his cheeks, as his lip trembled with a pout, and his hands clung so hard to the brochure in his grip that pages crinkled, until – with a loud cry – he tossed the brochure at Coran’s feet, where it landed haphazardly in a pile of papers. The outside was stained with blue fingerprints, all smudged over the picture of the Garrison from afar, and the inside pages of the barracks were ripped to shreds. Coran swallowed hard, as he awkwardly crouched down and folded the brochure away as best as possible. Lance asked:

“You – You’re going to send me _away_?”

Coran winced as his joints ached. He rubbed at his knees with pursed lips, while glancing covertly towards the bedroom doors, and – with another gulp – wondered where Lance had found the brochure, which he was certain was stacked away with the mail. The shredded papers with the leftover brochure revealed smiling faces . . . young children clutching the hands of caretakers, pre-teens playing football in a state-of-the-art facility, teenagers grouped together with laughter in a cafeteria . . . Coran let out a low shuddered sigh.

“This isn’t how we wanted you to find out,” mumbled Coran.

“H-How were you going to tell me?”

“We love you very much, Lance.” Coran awkwardly tugged at the papers. “It’s just that we don’t think you’ve been coping lately, and – and – and we’ve been wanting to talk about what you do online for a while now, because we think that you’ve been doing some unhealthy things that aren’t any good. The boarding school was my idea . . . no distractions, no outside influences . . . Mr Iverson has set it up so you can share a room with Hunk, too!

“It – It’s just you’re _very_ flirtatious, Lance. I know you wouldn’t act on that, but I worry some people may take advantage or get the wrong idea, and you do very well at the Garrison, but they tell me your grades are always _just_ lacking, because you focus too much on the Internet or hanging out or outside clubs. This – This may be good for you.”

“How the _fuck_ will this be good for me?”

“Language,” spat Coran. “I will not have you disrespecting me, lad! Still, you want to know how this could be helpful? You will be in a strict environment . . . the Garrison will teach you independence, self-sufficiency, and responsibility . . . there is still emotional support and therapy and support clubs, if you want them, but – but – but you’ll _also_ hopefully learn you won’t _need_ people like Shiro for validation. You’ll have self-validation!”

Coran brought a hand to his chest. The slight pressure provided a small comfort, although every beat of his heart was felt against his palm, and – with a sniff – Coran kept his eyes locked on Lance, who appeared on the verge of acceptance. Lance lowered his head, while he furrowed his brow and took in a deep breath. _A sudden change_. Lance flinched and turned sheer white, as he slowly lifted his head and locked eyes with Coran, and his expression hardened and his lips pursed into a thin line. The words that spilled from his lips were cold:

“So this is about Shiro?”

A cold silence fell between them. Coran quirked his head toward the door, where Alfor ran straight up the stairs yelling ‘papa’ at the top of his lungs, before – as Keith finally caught up with him – screaming as he was corralled into a pair of strong arms. There was yellow paint all over his hair, while his cheeks were red from his cries, and Keith could only mutter an apology, as he dragged Alfor to the new bathroom to break in the shower. The screams finally died away, as Coran turned back to Lance with a long sigh.

“That is a big part of it,” mumbled Coran.

“Okay, so what about Keith?” Lance spat. “Does Keith have to leave?”

The question lingered between them, as Coran stared hard at the brochure. It moved under his touch and he positioned the scraps of paper into an odd collage, while Lance slowly gasped and panted for breath, and soon he broke into choked and tearful laughter. Every tear poured over his lips and drenched his cheeks, until every sound he made was broken, and – as he coughed and spluttered – he locked eyes with Coran. The lips parted. The cheeks flushed. He pointed an accusatory finger toward Coran with a curl of his lip and a loud scoff.

“It’s just me,” whispered Lance.

“Lance, Keith isn’t the one obsessing about Shiro.” Coran winced. “It – It wasn’t my idea, but your mother made the point that your email to Shiro was . . . well . . . dangerous. It was so dangerous that she wanted to make sure you weren’t doing anything else online that could get you into trouble, so . . . so we put some applications on your phone and laptop.”

“Like – Like what?” Lance turned pale. “You know I don’t do anything wrong, right? I might have looked at some porn once, but – but – but I was just curious! You – You didn’t look at my Internet history or anything, right? What did you see? I don’t . . . why?”

“We read your emails and texts. We checked your history. We just . . . it was . . . I can’t say it was the best idea we had, Lance, but we saw how you were daily checking out Shiro’s social media and following him until he had to block all your accounts! We saw how you made a fake account, so he thinks that an adult is following him, _after_ he locked down all his accounts onto private. We saw what he said to you when you first messaged him.

“He said that he couldn’t talk to you until you turned eighteen. Is that what you’re waiting to happen? Do you think at eighteen it will be any easier? I didn’t even think he was _allowed_ to be on social media, Lance, not while on the register! We’ve already told his probation officer and we’ve also told the police just to be safe. This – This isn’t right or healthy, Lance.”

Lance climbed to his feet. He paced back and forth on the plastic, with loud crackles from the material underfoot, before – with a cry – sprinting over to the open windows and throwing his head outside for a breeze of fresh air to give him some strength. The safety bars on the windows prevented him from leaning too far out, but Coran struggled to stop his stomach from churning at the idea of Lance falling from such a height, and it stopped only when Lance spun around and glared at him. The eyes were dark and cold.

“You – You were _spying_ on me. . .”

Coran stood and slowly walked towards him. Lance threw out a hand. It was a warning gesture, as he hunched forward and grasped his stomach with his other arm, and – choking for breath – Lance stumbled back against the wall beside the window, until his back was pressed against the hopefully dry paint. He closed his eyes. Coran watched with tears blurring his vision, as they stung and merged with the developing sweat. He remained frozen halfway between the door and his son, unable to comfort him or make the pain vanish.

“Lance, we were just –”

“No, fuck you,” spat Lance. “ _Fuck you_! You get pissed when Keith opens the mail first. Mom gets pissed if you read a text over her shoulder! Hell, even fucking _Alfor_ gets to employ the rule that no one’s allowed in his room without his permission! You guys are all fucking about boundaries and personal spaces and respecting people’s limitations, but I guess that’s all fucking bullshit when it comes to me, right? I’m not entitled to anything my own.

“Well, I tell you what, that’s the _last_ time I ever tell either of you shit! Why the fuck should I? Hell . . . do you want me to whisper to friends in corners or pass notes? Do you want me to sneak information from random sources and strangers? I obviously can’t use a search engine, because you guys will be there asking why I needed to ask something in the first place.

“That – That was _my_ safe space. That was where I went to talk to people just like me; I could share memories, listen to their experiences, get advice on coping and ask if something was normal, and – and – and I could _vent_ about things! I could bitch about you or Keith, because I knew that you wouldn’t see it and it wouldn’t hurt your feelings, but – great – now I feel like absolute shit, because you . . . I didn’t mean . . . I just wanted to _talk_ to someone.”

“Lance, we just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“You couldn’t just _ask_ me?” Lance wiped at his tears. “You could have just blocked social media, Pops! You could have just put the computer in a family room. You could have told me the apps were there to be used in an emergency. You could have done _anything_ , but you fucking chose to move me miles away from home and chose to spy on me! What did I do to make it so you couldn’t even trust me? I – I never contacted Shiro after he told me not to . . .

“You know what, though? The _second_ I turn eighteen, I’m going to find him . . . I’m going to ask all the questions that you guys never fucking let me ask, and I’m going to trust him a _lot_ more than I trust you, because he never spied on me and he never told anyone my secrets and he _still_ doesn’t treat me like a kid, but trusts me to back off when he asks me to back off!”

Coran fell backward. He tripped over his feet, until he was forced to grab onto a wall for support, and – gasping for breath – found mild relief that the wall was dry, even though the room spun around him and the tears fell with abandon. Lance slid down to the floor, where he kicked out one foot in front of him and hunched forward. He hid his face into his hands. It wasn’t supposed to go like this! Coran swallowed back the bile and acid, as he panted for breath and forced a trembling smile. It died on his lips as soon as it was born.

“Lance, we _did_ ask you,” whispered Coran.

“You didn’t trust me, though.”

“Why should we?” Coran shook his head. “You were clearly lying to us, Lance! It’s one thing to get annoyed that no one trusts you, but trust is earned and not demanded. You engaged in dangerous behaviours, and you did things you knew we would disapprove, and you even broke Shiro’s trust by spying on _him_ when he told you to leave it alone. This was the only way we could know the truth, but the truth was you _lied_ , Lance.

“We’re not sending you away because we hate you. We’re sending you away so you can get a fresh start, clear your head, and get a total break from all of this mess. We’re sending you to a place where you can learn some autonomy and how to grow as a person, and hopefully – after some time – you’ll realise you don’t _need_ Shiro . . . you don’t even need _us_ . . .”

Coran marched forward across the plastic. He dropped down in front of Lance, where he clasped his face between his hands and forced him to look up, and he pressed a chaste and lingering kiss to his forehead, until he pulled back with a broken smile. Lance looked passive . . . lost . . . afraid. He lolled his head when Coran let go, until chin fell against his chest, and simply stared hard at the floor without any real emotion. Coran wanted to hold him and hug him and tell him it would all be okay, but instead he swore to him:

“You just have to believe in yourself, Lance.”

A part of him remembered Shiro’s old advice. . . _‘it doesn’t matter what others think of you, but it sure does matter what you think of yourself’_. . . good advice, although the eternal association with Shiro would forever make him reword the phrase. He climbed back to his feet, while he slowly walked over to the bedroom door, and – as he dragged his feet – he ran a hand over his face and struggled to remain calm. Coran forced a smile.

“Please, don’t hate us,” whispered Coran.

Lance said nothing.


	10. Chapter 10

_A knock at the door._

Keith flinched. A burst of adrenaline ran through his veins, as he threw himself from the chair and stumbled over the blanket, and – as his heart raced and breaths left in pants – seconds passed before he remembered his location. The cold sweat over his skin was uncomfortable and sticky, enough to make his clothes cling to his back, and he rolled his head in an attempt to shake himself awake, while running hands over sleep-encrusted eyes.

He laughed to remember he was _home_. The penthouse was too high for random wanderers, with security too tight for unwanted guests, and he turned to focus on the photographs that lined the walls, where Alfor stared at him with a smile from his eleventh birthday party and Lotor stood with a proud smirk at high-school graduation. The scent of coffee floated through the air from the open kitchen, where a stack of pancakes lay with a note to the side that would likely read: ‘heat me for two minutes, kisses’! Keith smiled and shook his head.

 _‘Come on, Bro, open up,’_ yelled a voice.

Keith flexed his shoulders and strolled towards the doors. He paused to check through the peephole, just on the off-chance there was an unwanted intruder, and his hand instinctively pressed the ‘nine-one’ on his phone hidden in his pocket, before – throwing wide the door – he heaved a sigh of relief and turned the phone back onto stand-by mode. Lance stood proud. A backpack was thrown over one shoulder, while his brown skin was flushed with extra colour, and his smile made the Altean markings move on his cheeks.

He threw a hand in the air, which Keith clasped and shook. It was soon dropped as Lance lightly brushed past him towards the kitchen, where he threw himself onto a nearby stool and started to tear into the pancakes, and his backpack was dropped at his side. Keith noticed a badge saying ‘eighteen’ on his green jacket. He closed and locked the door behind them, before he followed over and busied himself with the coffee-pot. Keith asked:

“Mom and Dad know you’re coming?”

Lance swung around with a non-committal grunt. It was all Keith could do not to roll his eyes, as he waited for the coffee to finish preparation, and the aromatic scent provided a small comfort, as he thought to mornings spent in Lotor’s new dorm room.  Lance sat awkwardly on the stool, unused to spending time at home aside from major holidays, and he appeared to be taking in every little change . . . _new paint in the hallway, sofas rearranged, Alfor’s paintings stuck to the fridge . . ._ Lance soon shrugged and sighed.

“Nah,” admitted Lance. “I wanted to surprise them.”

“You’re not one for surprises.”

“Yeah, well, I thought it’d be weird, you know?” Lance lowered his head. “It’s easier to see you first, maybe get used to the place again, and just settle in before I tell them all the big news, especially when they’ll ask so many questions . . . _blah, blah, blah_. . . sometimes you just want to chill for a bit. It took me ages to pack up my stuff from the Garrison!”

“Oh, yeah, about that, do you need any help moving?” Keith slid him a coffee. “I’m trying to save up for my business, so any odd jobs – that you might want to _voluntarily_ offer a contribution in gratitude – would be great. Pops and Zarkon offered to pay, but –”

“You don’t want to just have stuff given to you?”

“Something like that,” mumbled Keith. “I’m grateful for all the help I had through life, and without Dad I probably would have been in jail by now or in the morgue, but I also want to do something that’s _just_ mine and _just_ by me. I want something that I’ve built with my own hands from the foundation up. Not to prove Shiro wrong, but to prove myself right.”

Keith smiled and took a mug. He sat opposite Lance on the island, while both nursed their drinks between clasped hands, and Lance – with a grunt – got up to fetch the soya milk, which he slid to Keith with a half-smile and shake of his head. They adjusted their drinks respectively, while a strange silence befell them, and the sound-proofing of the apartment led to an eerie sense of quiet broken only by loud sips and hums. Keith bit into his lip and ran a hand through his black hair, as he cocked his head to the side with a shrug.

“My – My biological pops left me his shack out by the desert,” said Keith. “It was left _specifically_ to me, so Shiro couldn’t sell it or wreck it, and I’ve been able to do a lot of work to it so it’s actually looking a pretty great place to set up as a mechanic. I can even sleep there and get some independence, too, maybe extend later if I want a family.”

“Lotor doesn’t want to go back to New Daibazaal?”

“Eventually, I guess.” Keith shrugged. “We’re still young, but Lotor really wants kids. I just – I don’t know . . . we’re talked about it, and I think I’d be okay with it if _he_ carries them or we adopt, but I’ve never been able to . . . well . . . _you know_.” Keith scratched at his neck with a blush. “I’ve tried, but I just keep getting these awful flashbacks, so . . .

“Don’t get me wrong, as Lotor and I are doing _great_. I sometimes wonder what would have happened had we not hooked up and stuff, because . . . I wonder if I’d have become promiscuous in an attempt to just feel wanted, or would I have been totally celibate out of fear of being abused again . . . Lotor makes me feel good. He never pushes me, always supports me, and he helps me get better little by little every day we’re together.

“He’s – ah – decided to go to college, wants to get a masters in child psychology, and I’m really proud of him. We’ve been trying to desensitise me to the stuff I _want_ to do, by gradually building into things and processing the emotions, and the stuff I _don’t_ want to do, we find workarounds and he never makes me feel guilty or ashamed.”

Keith blushed as he swirled the contents of his mug. The cityscape behind him revealed the Zarkon residence a mere few streets away, while the college could just about be seen on the horizon, and – with a smile – he thought to Lotor, who would likely be bickering with Ezor about decorations in their shared room. The sun was coming up strong, sending long shadows about the lounge, and Keith sighed and took a long sip with eyes downcast. He waited for Lance to respond. The quiet always left him second-guessing himself.

“Sorry,” said Keith. “I guess it’s my time to babble.”

Lance continued to say nothing. He simply stared into his coffee with lips pursed and brows furrowed, as if deep in thought and lost to emotion, and Keith – downing the scalding coffee with en experienced tongue – sight and slammed his mug down. The clock on the wall ticked by the seconds until their parents would return home, enough that Keith knew time was limited to get Lance to open up about whatever played on his mind. He chirped:

“You ever thought about kids?”

“Yeah, one day,” blushed Lance. “I’m not like you, though. I don’t have a boyfriend yet, although there is a guy that I have my eye on and that I think likes me back, and – ah – he’s offered to help me out by being my roommate, too. I know Pops is going to _freak_ , but I may have . . . kind of . . . left the Garrison. Please, don’t make a big deal!”

 _Ah, so that was the crux of the matter_. Lance buried his head into his hands, as he groaned low and deep over his coffee, and the tension to his shoulders was so thick that knots could practically be seen forming over his muscles. It was heart-breaking to see, and so Keith slid around next to him. He sat with some few inches between them. Lance remembered hunched over, even as Keith furrowed his brow and awkwardly patted at his back, and Keith opened his mouth in search of the right words, until they finally spilled out:

“Pops already knew you’d leave once you got your diploma.”

“He – He did?” Lance blinked. “He knew?”

“Okay, so I didn’t tell you this, but he’s super proud of you, Lance!” Keith nudged him in his side. “He’s planning a big family meal to celebrate my graduation, but he knows you would want your own celebration – something just for you – so he’s got a surprise party planned for next week. Hunk is doing catering. Katie is doing decorations. It’ll be awesome.”

“I – I wasn’t sure he would . . . eh . . . care?”

“He cares. I don’t think he has favourites, but I do think he understands your personality a lot better than mine and he has more fun when he’s around you. It’s like he loves us equally, but he likes you more? I know you don’t see it, but he does love you. He _cried_ when you rang him to ask him to your graduation ceremony! I think he thought you hated him, so he spent the whole week just bragging about his son from the Garrison and the man you become.”

“I didn’t realise he . . . I thought I disappointed him.”

“No, he’s not disappointed.” Keith smiled. “He’s offered to help fund my business, but I said I wanted to go it alone, so he’s been helping me paint and scour for parts instead. He wants to do something for you, too, so I think he’ll pay for the deposit on your new apartment and help you decorate. He just wants you to be happy, because you were so down for so long.”

The photographs on the wall told the sad story . . . dozens of family photographs, with Lance smiling in each one, until gradually the smile faded and soon Lance vanished from them entirely, until he appeared in sporadic solo portraits . . . _class photographs, graduation day . . ._ in every one he bore the same half-smile that never quite reached his eyes. Keith groaned. It took all his strength to reach for Lance’s hand, where he squeezed in an attempt to provide comfort, and – as his skin burned and itched and ached – Lance laughed.

It was a comforting sound, even as Lance pulled away. He whispered: ‘it’s okay, dude’. Keith barely was out of his seat, before he was running his hands under the tap and washing them until the skin turned red, and he could only whisper back ‘thanks’. Lance continued to laugh and finished his coffee, before getting up to make two new mugs for them. Keith watched with a curious eye, as he sought to break the tension with:

“So tell me about your plans?”

Lance heaved a long sigh. He walked away from the coffee machine, as he headed towards the sofas, and threw himself onto one until the cushions creaked. Keith rolled his eyes and followed suit, as he plopped down into an armchair and kicked away a ball at his feet. It was a complete mess in the lounge. The coffee-table was covered with glitter and crayons, while the floor was awash with games and toys, and Keith made a mental note to tidy up later, as well as give Alfor a stern lecture. Lance finally broke the silence with a low hum.

“Well, I’m moving in with my roommate,” said Lance. “He graduated ages back, so he’s working at the minute as a laboratory technician. I think he gets like twenty-five a year? I mean, it’s not as great as what it could be compared to his qualifications, but it’s plenty for him to help contribute to the bills and rent and to save for the future.

“I got a job as an assistant in the same laboratory, but I’m studying to be an accountant. I – I know it’s a really boring job, but if I become a pilot – at the Garrison or not – I’d have to spend days or weeks away from home at a time, and I just . . . I thought it’d be a bad idea in the long-term, you know? I want to be around my kids. I want to be around my family! I don’t want to miss Alfor starting high school or your business expansions.

“I did want to go into the arts, but I think it’s too unreliable an income. We come from a big family, Keith, with so many cousins and aunts and distant relatives, and I _lived_ for Pops telling us all about his grandfather growing up and stories of Altea. I want to be able to support my family, plus accountancy is something they need _everywhere._ I – I want to go back to Altea at some point, take my family with me, and I can with accountancy.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a plan,” said Keith. “You sure, though? You get so bored when you’re not working with your hands or engaged in a challenge. I always thought you as like an amazing artist or the world’s best pilot, but . . . if your dream is to have a family, I guess it makes sense. You’d probably quit once you had a kid anyway, right?”

A wince struck Lance’s features. He blushed and rolled his head into the cushions, where he picked at the leather with the edges of his nails, and Keith – with another sigh – realised that Lance always wanted a career _and_ a family, but only now did he seem to want to sacrifice one for the expense of the other. Keith stood to give him space. He busied himself snatching the toys from the floor and tossing them into the toy-box, while the textbooks he piled up and put on Alfor’s study-desk in the adjacent office. He called out:

“You okay, Lance?”

Lance pulled himself upright, as he tidied at the coffee-table. They both worked in a companionable silence, with Lance occasionally muttering complaints, and Keith smiled at the lack of fights or bickering or stern lectures. It felt good to be with an equal. Keith finally finished with most of the largest chores, before Lance cricked his back and lifted a small toy from underneath a far sofa. It was a blue lion, made of plastic, and it still bore Alfor’s sticky fingerprints all over the surface. Lance chuckled and asked:

“Do you ever worry what we’ll be like as parents?”

“Huh?” Keith blinked. “Like what?”

“I sometimes worry you’re too distant,” said Lance. “I worry that you won’t hug your kid or you might be too strict, like the _total_ opposite from Shiro, and that would be just as bad. I – I also worry I might _become_ Shiro, like where does the line stop between hugs and kisses and affection and . . . abuse? Then how can you ever trust your partner fully? You can love Lotor to death, but we also loved Shiro to death and there was still that hidden darkness.

“And – And my roommate isn’t perfect, you know? How do you know if someone has changed? You had anger problems, Keith. How do you _know_ you won’t ever raise a hand to Lotor and how do you _know_ you won’t shout at your son? I have to trust the guy I love, don’t I, but I can’t even trust myself or my family or social services.”

“Lance, those are . . . those are heavy questions.”

“It’s part of why I _do_ want to quit work when I have a kid.” Lance shrugged. “It’s also why I want a job where I’m _never_ called away. I know my roommate’s changed and not a bad guy, just like I know that what Shiro did to me is wrong and I haven’t internalised it, but there’s still this niggling ‘what if’ doubt in my head. If I’m _always_ there, I can protect my kid. No one else protected us, did they? I want them to be safe.”

Keith fisted his hands. The knuckles turned white. He drew in deep and long breaths, as he turned around and stared hard at Lance . . . _‘no one protected us’_. . . the bile rose in his throat, burning at his tongue and leaving a vile after-taste as he swallowed it down, and he raised trembling hands to his mouth to hide the tremble of his lips. A photograph of Allura and Coran sat above the mantel-place, with Allura in a beautiful white gown and Coran in a traditional Altean suit, and Keith counted to ten before he dared speak aloud.

“Dad is the one who _saved_ me,” said Keith.

“He also let it go on for _years_ ,” spat Lance. “I know it’s not his fault, but he let someone else babysit us! Imagine if he _never_ let me out of his sight. I – I know you still would have been hurt, but I wouldn’t have been abused as I’d never have been _in_ that situation! I don’t want to ever give anyone a chance to ever hurt my kid, but then . . . that’s not healthy either, is it? I worry if you’ll be too cold, myself too obsessive. I just . . . worry.”

“We’re – We’re still young, Lance. Why don’t you talk to Mom and Dad? You could talk to a therapist, too? Do – Do those forums you used to visit have people who also want to have kids some day? I don’t have the answers . . . I’ve always tried not to think about it.”

“Yeah, I’ll ask around. I want to apologise to Mom and Dad anyway.” Lance shrugged with a smile. “I need to thank them for everything they’ve done for me, and I don’t want to move into my apartment without first having told them I appreciate all they did. I don’t hate them for sending me to boarding school . . . I get it . . . I want us to be a family again.”

Lance walked over to Keith. He clapped a hand on his shoulder, with a gentle squeeze, but he carefully made sure that his skin never came into contact with Keith, which brought a smile to Keith who clasped a hand on Lance’s opposite shoulder. They shared a long look, as the phone in Keith’s pocket buzzed with the inevitable message that their parents would be home soon and to ‘pop the kettle on’. Coran would wander in and complain about tea in the States, while Allura would run up to him with a massive hug . . . Keith blinked back tears.

“You’ll always be my brother,” said Keith.

A smile broke over Lance. There was a tremble to his lip, before he dove for Keith and hugged him tight, and – barely able to breathe – Keith simply stood with hands awkwardly hanging in the air, before he patted the back with heavy and rhythmic gestures. Lance pulled back away with a sniff and a sincere grin, as he stepped back and kicked at the floor with tears brimming in his eyes, and yet he looked happy . . . truly happy.

“You’re my brother, too,” said Lance.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Lance blinked awake . . .

The light from the doorway illuminated the dark bedroom. It cast long shadows across the basic furniture and various accountancy books stacked on the floor, while the family photographs on the wall reflected glimmers of light that burned onto his retina, and – as he heaved a low yawn – he smiled as the room remained in that strange state of dusk. The sheets over his frame were cool and soft to the touch, both black and satin.

He rolled over onto his back, where he ran his hand through mussed hair. The scent of sex and sweat was heavy in the air, while the sheets stuck to him uncomfortably in places, and yet there was a rich aroma of pancakes cooking in the kitchen not far beyond that door. It was a small apartment, but it was cosy and it was home. Lance loved curling up on the sofa after a long day at work, while his lover grabbed a blanket and cocoa, and he loved the murmured compliments in his ear while the low glow of the television broke through the darkness.

In the doorway, a familiar form appeared. A tray was held in two strong hands. He noted his favourite types of Earth food; various pieces of Cuban cuisine, a lot of sweet deserts, and a few messy attempts at a healthy Altean breakfast. On the left organic arm, a string was wrapped around the forearm leading to a helium balloon with a painted ‘twenty-one’. A card sat nicely on the corner of the tray, homemade and bright, with ‘Happy Birthday’ clear.

“I got you something special,” chirped Shiro.

Shiro winked and strode into the bedroom. Lance barely had time to sit up with a yawn, as the tray was gently slid onto his lap and the balloon released high, and – as the rubber bounced against the ceiling – Lance blushed to notice Shiro was undressed. The black apron barely hid his modesty, while it brought a stab of arousal any time he turned around. Lance groaned and started to take a few bites of his pancake with stolen glances.

He was distracted just enough to ignore Shiro, who fiddled around under the bedside cabinet until a large bottle of expensive champagne emerged, and in his cybernetic hand sat two flute-glasses with a strawberry in each one. Lance dropped open his jaw. Shiro simply laughed and raised an eyebrow, as Lance blushed to realise the half-chewed food. He said nothing and simply watched as the champagne was poured into the two crystal glasses, while Shiro hummed an old song half-remembered from his childhood.

“You’re finally legal to drink,” chirped Shiro.

“Yeah, I guess I am.” Lance smiled and took a glass. “Keith wants to take me to a bar later, says that it’s a rite of passage, and – well – I know that Lotor wants to propose to him, so I figured that there is no way I could miss that! Lotor asked if it’d be okay, you know? I told him it was fine. I’m way past old jealousies . . . I have everything I want here.”

“I’m glad, Lance. I just wish . . . I just wish I didn’t have to be your dirty secret. We’ve been living together – what – three years now? Your family only ever comes over when I’m out, and I have to hide all my personal items in our room, and I just – I feel –”

“I’m not ashamed of you. I swear I’m not ashamed, Shiro.”

“I never said you were, Lance,” said Shiro.

Shiro sat at the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped with his weight, as his muscular frame filled a great deal of the small space, and Lance blushed to see those dark eyes watching him with dilated pupils and a subtle half-smile. Lance listened to the bubbles of the champagne, with its unique and sweet scent, and half-closed his eyes in memories of the night before, as Shiro continued to watch him with nothing but adoration. Shiro whispered:

“How about a toast to you?”

 _No one had ever toasted him before_. Lance blushed and blinked back tears, as – with a shuddered sigh – he raised his glass and clinked it against Shiro’s, before taking a long sip while locking eyes with the man he swore to love for a lifetime. The champagne taste sharp yet sweet on his lips, while the bubbles fizzed down his throat, and he fell back into the plump pillows to get more comfortable, as the tray of breakfast sat warmly on his lap waiting to be devoured. Shiro chuckled and reached for his hand, as he said:

“I’m going to go take a shower.”

A kiss from placed to the back of his hand. It lingered, until Shiro sat upright and put his glass down on the side, and – with a somewhat slow and erotic display – untied his apron and let it drop to the floor, where his body stood on full display. There were many more scars than when Lance was a child . . . _‘this one is where the police threw me down the stairs, and this one is when a prisoner caught me with lighter fluid’ . . ._

Lance always winced to see those marks, caught between an unnatural resentment that Keith told and a cognitive understanding that no one was to blame but Shiro, and yet the  worst part – the part that nearly made him cry every time – was the sight of the scars between his cybernetic implant and the stub of a remaining limb. Lance took in a shuddered breath . . . _‘I was lucky to avoid the cliché of prison rape, but – until they put me in protective solitary – Sendak held me down one time and just . . . cut and cut and cut’ . . ._ Lance swallowed hard.

Shiro winked, unaware of the conflict Lance experienced. He sauntered towards bathroom just between bedroom and lounge, before dipping inside and turning on the water, and Lance bit hard into his lip and slipped the glass to the side table. It was difficult to slide the tray onto the bed without spilling items, but he somehow managed to follow naked in turn, where he paused with body pressed to the doorframe with a blush.

“They’ll disown me,” muttered Lance.

The waters ran down the cheap shower-curtain, while Shiro tested the water with his hand, but – with a furrowed brow – he simply turned and stood without a single word, until Lance pressed his forehead to the wood in an attempt to avoid his gaze. It was comforting to hear the patter of water against plastic, as well as the hiss as it ran down and splashed onto the tiles, but it still did little to stem how his heart raced and his mouth ran dry. Shiro asked:

“What do you mean, love?”

“I know we agreed not to talk about our past, but – well – for Keith it’s _not_ the past.” Lance let out a shuddered breath. “He copes. He’s happy. He still gets nightmares and flinches when people touch him, and I think it’ll always be with him to some extent, which is fair enough, because it messed me up in some respects, too. It took him ages to heal.

“It – It’s why I think Pops and Mom will hate you, because they saw how long it took him to recover . . . to go from ‘victim’ to ‘survivor’ . . . you – you did that to him, so they just see you as this monster that caused him harm, and – and – and they don’t understand you’ve _changed_. They won’t listen to me when I tell them! It doesn’t matter you served your time, or that you were beaten badly in jail, or that you had therapy, because –”

“– bad people can’t change?”

“You’re not a bad person! That’s what I’m trying to get them to see, but it’s hard when they won’t listen to any conversation that so much as alludes to your name, and they think the roommate I’m dating is just some older guy that I used to work with, not that it’s _you_. I want to tell them, but how would they forgive me? They’d just see me as the delusional kid siding with his brother’s abuser, as if I’m picking you over Keith. I can’t win.

“They don’t know the arguments we had when I turned eighteen. They don’t know how you’re still in therapy and have coping mechanisms. They don’t know how you donate to charities and spent time regaining my trust and how much you supported me when we moved in together. They don’t know it’s me who made the first move. They don’t know how –”

Lance shook his head with a sigh. The bathroom was devoid of photographs, but he could still see his family before his vision . . . Alfor, Keith, Allura, Coran . . .  every major event was shared with them, with Shiro always excluded to the sides, and recent events were celebrated twice, once with them and once with him. It didn’t seem too much to ask that all his loved ones should be able to come together in one place, but he half-suspected an ultimatum. Shiro walked toward him and cupped his face in both hands. He whispered:

“Lance, I promise it will –”

The phone rang. It echoed through the small apartment, breaking the moment of intimacy between them, and a part of Lance wished they could get a bigger place, but nice places were hard to find when they could only be so close to schools and playgrounds. He sighed and leaned on tiptoes to place a kiss to chapped lips, before he pulled back with a smile and stepped towards the bedroom with a look he hoped wasn’t too come-hither.

“I’ll get it,” said Lance.

Shiro smiled and nodded. He blew a kiss, before dipping behind the curtain, and Lance sighed to see his naked form barely blurred behind clear plastic, as water dripped down his form and provided an erotic sight. Lance dashed into the bedroom and quickly snatched up his phone, before he dropped down onto the bed and sat cross-legged, as he picked at the home-cooked breakfast with a smile. The screen flashed ‘Keith’, with a photo of Keith flipping him off taken when he was still in bed. Lance answered the phone to a loud:

_‘Hey, Lance? It’s me, Keith.’_

“Hey, what’s up?”

 _‘It’s your birthday, that’s what’s up!’_ Keith laughed. _‘I was hoping you could bring your boyfriend to the bar tonight. It’s about time we met the guy, you know? I want to grill him about treating my brother right, before hitting him with twenty questions and threatening to hurt him if he hurts you . . . just the usual brother talk, that’s all.’_

“Well, he’s in the shower right now,” confessed Lance. “I can ask him later, but – er – I was hoping to bring him around some other time. Are we still meeting around eight? It’s just I promised Mom and Pops that I would go to a family meal, too.”

_‘Yeah, it’s the same time. What are you doing now, though?’_

“Me? Well, my guy just brought me breakfast in bed. We had a pretty great night, so he’s just in the shower now tidying off, and we also had a glass of champagne to celebrate. I’m feeling pretty great, to be honest. I just . . . I don’t know . . . I feel that the older I get, the weirder the relationship gets, and I just had a few questions for you. If you had any advice?”

 _‘Shoot_ ,’ said Keith.

Lance glanced to the bathroom. The shower ran loud, enough that it drowned out even the familiar hum of an old tune from soft lips, and Lance – gently climbing out of bed – tiptoed toward the bedroom door and clicked it closed. He sprinted back to the bed and climbed back onto the sheets, where he picked at the food and ignored Keith’s complaints for him to hurry, and let out a long sigh that brought condensation to the phone screen. He begged:

“Okay, promise not to freak out?”

A sharp exhale echoed down the line. There was a sound of rustling sheets, followed by a mumbled conversation with someone in the background, before – with a grunt – a door closed and a light clicked on, as Keith remained silent in an all too quiet room. It was clear he went somewhere to be alone, likely the swing on the front porch of the shack. Lance smiled at the idea of Lotor likely grumbling in their bedroom. A romantic morning ruined by Lance and his personal problems as he babbled on the phone. Keith asked in a low voice:

_‘He’s not hurting you, is he?’_

“No. No! He’s great, Keith. I mean that.”

Lance fell back onto the sheets, as he pinched at the bridge of his nose. They pooled and collected around his legs, especially as he kicked and fidgeted and turned, and soon he was busying himself putting the leftover breakfast aside and cuddling up beneath the sheets, as he nuzzled against a pillow that still was scented with rich cologne. The scent of Shiro was a small comfort, as he mewled and half-closed his eyes, and Keith waited with a great deal of patience for Lance to break the silence. He struggled to slow his racing heart.

“It’s hard to get into a lot of details,” murmured Lance. “I’ll tell you more after you’ve – ah – met him at some point, but for now . . . it’s the stuff he’ll say, you know? Like, say I go out with Hunk for the night, then he might be all ‘that’s great, go have fun’, but it’s got this tone to it like . . . like it’s not all great? If I mention it to him, he’ll be really hurt and say I’m reading too much into it, because he just meant to be nice. I feel like shit.

“I don’t know if it’s just a leftover from our childhood, because Shiro was always like that with you and always tricked me with how he talked, but I _can’t_ keep accusing him of being passive-aggressive or sarcastic when he’s trying his best, can I? I don’t want to push him away. He says sometimes he feels like my dirty secret . . . maybe he’s right?

“We worked together for three years. We came home together every night. I spend _every minute_ with him when I’m not with my family, and I’m just pushing for my family and my guy to come together, but am I just doing _that_ to keep a closer eye on him? I don’t feel ashamed of him, like I want him to be a secret, but I do want him to be _mine_ , and I’m always scared and I’m always paranoid and I don’t want to lose someone I love.”

_‘Is it him bringing out those bad traits? Is he doing anything to –’_

“That’s the thing, he’s _perfect_! He’ll ask whether I trust him, but he’ll look so sad when I have doubts or even if I reassure him. It’s normal to be sad when your partner doesn’t trust you, but it’s not normal for your partner _to_ distrust you, and am I in the wrong for being paranoid or is he doing something to make me paranoid? Plus, there – ah – is something else personal that is kind of hard to admit. J-Just don’t freak out, okay?”

Lance screwed shut his eyes. He blushed deep red, as his hand came up to block out the little light, and the scent of sex and sweat seemed heavier in the air, as he glanced to a crumpled uniform on the floor and thick, fur-lined, leather cuffs for hands and feet. He half-remembered the words so familiar from so much time together . . . _‘do you remember the safe word?’ . . . ‘okay, are we red, amber, or green?’ . . . ‘keep talking to me, baby’_. . . Lance groaned in embarrassment, as he banged his head up and down onto the pillow. Keith said:

_‘You’re making me worries, Lance. I just –’_

“He – He likes to role-play!”

A loud and spluttered cough echoed down the phone. Keith was choking on a drink, with him seemingly coughing up a lung, until he choked out some words to Lotor and a door was closed again, as he regained breath and muttered an endless stream of stuttered nonsense. It was an understandable reaction. Keith never liked to talk about his personal life to others, always having strict and insurmountable boundaries on such subjects, and Lance only ever confided such things to Hunk or Katie in general, as he respected Keith’s limits.

 _‘O . . . kay? That’s not – ah – too weird, Lance.’_ Keith sighed. _‘It’s weirder that you told me, if I’m going to be honest, but I guess it’s not like you’ve ever been with anyone else, so I suppose it’s normal to have questions? I used to have questions, too. Like, Lotor has this weird thing with me biting his –? A-Anyway, I wouldn’t worry about it much, Lance.’_

“He – He’s into like schoolboy role-plays, though. I have the outfits, and I shave down there, and I let him spank me when he’s in the mood, too. I – I kind of like it, because it’s kinky and fun and different, but then I just wonder what are his motives, and then I feel like shit again, Keith! It’s not a crime to have kinks. Like, women shave and do the schoolgirl thing all the time, and thoughts are just thoughts and he’s not hurting anyone, right?

“I sometimes want to tell him ‘no’, because it reminds me too much of our past. On the other hand, I sometimes feel then I’m being selfish and he needs this, but then _why_ does he need this? Am I like the anchor stopping him from offending? Oh God, that I even think that -! If I think he’s so bad, I shouldn’t be with him, but how can I think something so awful of someone who’s only ever been good to me and done nothing wrong since we met?”

‘ _That – That’s some heavy stuff, Lance. I won’t lie . . . you could be reading way too much into things, just because you have the same trauma and yours is manifesting in different ways, and yours makes you compare everything to Shiro and makes you second-guess yourself. It’s why you used to flirt like crazy, then freak out when someone reciprocated.’_

“Kind of like how I’m freaking out right now?”

_‘Honestly? Yeah, Lance.’_

Lance drew in a deep breath. He knew that Keith was right . . . Coran used to say the same thing, that he would self-sabotage out of a fear of things going wrong later on. . . _‘you’d rather end things on your terms than later on someone else’s’_. . . Lance sighed. The ceiling bore a small stain in the shape of Italy, as mould started to grow in through the floor above, and he knew it would not be long before they bought a house together, making such fixes and changes pointless in the long-term. A house Keith might never see with his restraining order.

 _‘If you can’t trust him, you shouldn’t be with him, though.’_ Keith sighed. _‘You also can’t not be with someone, just because you have some trauma, as there are people out there – like your boyfriend for one – that love you and want to help you get better. So maybe work out whether you can get past this or whether you can’t get past this.’_

“What do I do if I can’t get past this?”

_‘Leave him. If you think you can get past this, though, I’d recommend couple’s counselling and maybe rejoining your support groups for advice. Your feelings are valid, but it’s unfair on the guy to always doubt him when he’s not actually done anything, Lance.’_

“Yeah, you’re right,” said Lance.

The door creaked open at his side. Shiro emerged with a smile, as he towelled off his hair now streaked with white, and his member swung between his legs in an inviting manner, as Lance stared without shame and blushed at the sight. He watched as Shiro tossed the towel onto a nearby chair, before he crawled into bed beside Keith. Two thick arms wrapped around his waist. He was pulled back against a chiselled chest, which brought a sigh of pleasure from his lips, as he closed his eyes and whispered into the phone:

“Hey, I got to go, Keith. Guess who’s out the shower?”

_‘Okay. Tonight at eight?’_

“Yeah, I’m not missing it for the world!”

Lance turned off the phone. He dropped it onto the bedside table, before he turned over and pushed Shiro onto his back, and – sitting astride him – ran his hands over every inch of flesh, as he explored the scars and marks and natural variations of skin. Shiro hummed, as he traced callused fingers along his forearms in a light circular pattern. The brief moment of intimacy was a small comfort, but it did little to ease his guilt . . . words said behind Shiro’s back, doubts expressed that were completely unfounded. . . Shiro broke his train of thought with:

“How is Keith doing these days?”

 _No answer_. Lance winced and shrugged. It was a struggle to find words, especially when Shiro’s expression fell and his lip trembled, and – as he whispered out a loud ‘ _fuck_ ’ – his cheeks paled and his eyes watered. Lance swallowed at the sight, as he let out a shuddered breath. The wanted answer was impossible to provide. Nothing would undo the trauma, even if Keith smiled and laughed and loved, and the scar would always remain.

Lance lifted himself with a tap to Shiro’s chest. Shiro rolled over with a grunt, as Lance automatically worked at the muscles of his back, still damp from the shower, and hoped that the deep-tissue massage would provide a small relief to the uncomfortable truth. The rough keloid scars caught until his fingertips, flesh numb to most sensations, while the a few flatter scars brought small winces from rough lips, and Lance avoided them with a great expertise and familiarity with the body beneath him. He smiled and shrugged again.

“Keith’s doing great with Lotor, though,” whispered Lance. “He’s looking forward to tonight, plus he gave me some good relationship advice. Don’t get me wrong, Shiro. He still struggles with what happened, but you did some _really_ fucked up shit, and sometimes . . . sometimes we don’t get to be forgiven, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still change.”

“It – It’s why I think you need to tell him about us, Lance.”

“You just want them to disown me, so you can get me to yourself,” teased Lance.

“It’s been three years. How do you think Keith will feel when told? I _know_ what I did was wrong; I’d apologise a thousand times over if I could, but I know any contact with me will set him back in his recovery and break him to pieces. I can’t do that to him, Lance. If you wait too long, though, he’ll feel more betrayed . . . it’ll be like you kept it a secret, like you didn’t trust him, and it’ll also be harder for you to leave me, if . . . if – if you . . .”

“I won’t leave you,” swore Lance.

He continued to massage at the tensed muscles. The knots were building there since the contracts were signed on the house, bought with the money from Shiro’s last sale before they decided to rent the apartment and save for their future, and – even with this investment in both their names – there was still enough saved for a college fund and a nursery. Lance smiled and swallowed back the confession. He paused in his ministrations, as he lazily brushed a hand against his stomach and stretched for comfort.

“He’s your brother,” said Shiro. “He has to come first.”

“So I ditch my lover because he says so?”

“If this were our child who ended up wanting to marry their past abuser, wouldn’t _you_ be a little concerned and maybe want them to split apart? It’s not an unreasonable reaction. There are a lot of people who would call this unhealthy, Lance. I don’t want to call us co-dependent, but I can see where people would get that impression. It’s normal, Lance.”

“Do _you_ think we’re unhealthy together?”

A loud scoff escaped Shiro’s lips. He slowly sat upright on his forearms, to give Lance time to climb off, and – with a hand running through his hair – he shook his head and curled his lip with a half-muttered curse. A few long seconds passed, until Shiro swung his legs over the side of the bed and started snatching stray clothes from the floor. Lance crawled over behind him, as he forced a trembling smile and pressed kisses to his shoulders, but Shiro ignored him and simply dressed hastily and with loud tugs of the fabric. Shiro spat:

“You’re putting words in my mouth.”

“You just said that –”

“I love you, Lance.” Shiro blinked back tears. “If you don’t love me, I can understand that. I just need you to know that the world isn’t going to look fondly on us, which is something you have to prepare to experience, and it might come down to a choice between us and your family, and . . . I don’t want you to make the wrong choice. I don’t want you to be hurt.”

“I – I don’t understand. Are you trying to say being with you is the wrong choice? You – You always put yourself down, just like _they_ keep putting you down! What? Are you telling me people can’t be redeemed? You forget that _I_ raped Keith, too, right? _He_ forgave me.”

“Child-on-child abuse is very different, Lance. I was an adult!”

Shiro jumped to his feet. The sudden movement nearly sent Lance hurtling to the floor, as he caught himself on the edge of the bed-frame, and – as he sat back upright – he ran a hand over his stomach and curled back underneath the sheets with a pout. Shiro would likely head off to work soon with a muttered goodbye and a kiss to the forehead, where he would ignore Lance’s calls every hour until he returned home, and then things would continue as if the awkwardness hadn’t occurred and nothing had happened. Shiro muttered:

“I’ll always love you, no matter what you choose.”

He turned with a half-smile, before he leaned down to kiss Lance. It wasn’t to the lips like on their good days, but instead to his forehead, and he finished dressing with the same muttered ‘I’ll catch you later’, before darting out of the apartment with his coat. Lance furrowed his brow. The confusion lingered, as he rerun the conversation over and over in his mind, before rolling onto his back and staring up at that same stain that only grew over time.

Lance let his tears fall . . .

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

“Er, hey, how’s it going?”

Lance stood in the doorway. The shack was small and claustrophobic, with the main room taken up with boards tacked with engine blueprints and car designs, and piles of engineering books took up every corner, with some being strategically balanced to form a makeshift stool to try and maximise space. The kitchen beyond was too small for more than a couple of people at a time, while the bathroom above echoed out a loud gurgling flush.

He would have to climb the ladder into the box-bedroom, in order to use the _en suite_ that was the only bathroom available, and the garage outside was so full with parts and cars that Lance was forced to park on the desert sand. He tried not to worry about the damage the winds might do to the paint-job, as he scratched at his neck and kicked at the floor. Alfor sat behind Lance on the porch. The blast of music from his headphones was loud enough to hear almost word for word, while Coran stood and criticised his taste in music with a soft sigh.

It was almost like being home, as Allura struggled to bake a cake in the tiny kitchen. Lance smiled to see Alfor finally going through his ‘whatever’ phase, even if it came late at fourteen, and he laughed to hear Keith bickering upstairs with Lotor, who practically waddled down the ladder and refused to attempt the climb again in his state. He looked positively glowing; Lance lowered a hand to his stomach with a smile, as he saw how far Lotor extended.

“How far are you now?” Lance asked.

Lotor smiled, as his hands ran over his stomach. The clothes were perfectly tailored, likely a gift from Zarkon, and then both accentuated his new curves and hung beautifully over his frame, something a third-year student would be unable to afford alone. Lotor pushed a lock of long silver hair behind his ear, while his light eyes blinked back tears, and he stared down at the unborn child with his fingers tracing strange patterns over the extended flesh.

A few bumps from upstairs brought a wince to Lotor, especially when a large cardboard box dropped from the floor above, and – written across its side – Lance saw: ‘Keith’s Stuff’. He bit his lip to hold back a smile. The moving van out front only held a couple of boxes at most, while most inside the ‘lounge’ were flat-packed and far from ready to be used. The dagger from Krolia was still hanging on the wall, along with a stuffed lion of Keith’s placed precariously on an old shelf. Lotor looked to them with a smile, as he hummed.

“Five months,” said Lotor. “A Galra pregnancy is only six months, so we are rather close to the point of delivery, and yet _a certain someone_ is reluctant to move into our new place, despite the fact it has been ready for some weeks. I cannot continue to climb ladders in my condition, while the shack is too small for a child, and as for its distance from a hospital -?”

“Keith is pretty stubborn,” answered Lance. “He – ah – also is oddly sentimental. This was where his dad used to live, you know? He was a fire-fighter and raised Keith when his mother abandoned him, and I guess with a kid on the way . . . he just wants to feel close to him.”

“And this is impossible with a framed photograph and a prayer?”

“Well, we’ve both been lucky, Lotor. We haven’t lost our parents. Keith . . . Keith was abandoned by his mother, which always left him feeling worthless and unlovable, like even the _one_ person who was supposed to love him unconditionally couldn’t forge a bond, and he’s probably worries that his kid won’t love him either, you know?

“Ah, then his dad died. So he’s probably worrying what if he dies, too? He doesn’t want to leave his kid in any form, especially as his dad’s death left him in Shiro’s care, and then what if what happened with Shiro has broken him? He doesn’t want to _be_ Shiro, but he also doesn’t want to go so far in the opposite extreme that he ends up like his mother again, like abandoning the same kid he loves so much. He’s confused. This place grounds him.”

Lotor winced. The engagement ring on his finger shone in the light, as he ran circles over his stomach, and Lance smiled at the idea of the upcoming wedding, even as the bile and nausea rose at the idea of possibly having his invitation revoked . . . Lance had never seen a Galra wedding. He remembered seeing an Altean wedding with Romelle, along with a Balmeran wedding with Shay, but never a Galra wedding. He bit into his lip until he tasted blood, while forcing a bright smile. Lotor took a seat on the pile of books. He half-closed his eyes.

“It’s a connection to what was lost,” whispered Lotor.

“Yeah,” admitted Lance.

A rattle came from the ladder. Keith climbed down with a box balanced under one arm, while jumping the last few steps and sighing that everything was cleared out upstairs, and a thick sweat caused his mullet to cling to his forehead and neck. He smiled when he saw Lance, walking up to him with hand extended, and – as Lance let out a shuddered sigh – he took the hand and squeezed as hard as possible, desperate for some form of reassurance. He held onto Keith with both hands, while his lip trembled and eyes watered.

“Hey, you okay?” Keith asked.

“Huh? Yeah, I’m great,” lied Lance. “I did want to tell you guys all something, while the family was together, but – like – I can’t believe you’re finally moving out, Keith! I knew this place would be a success, but – well – I never thought it’d be _such_ a success that you’d have to get new premises. I drove past with my guy this morning. It’s massive!”

“Yeah, but the rent is pretty high.” Keith blushed. “I’m hoping to buy it out once I’ve settled for a few years, but I’ll need to keep a steady stream of customers to break-even, and I _think_ I can manage it, but I’m just dreading it failing with a baby on the way, you know? Zarkon is already paying for Lotor’s college, and I know I don’t owe him for _that_ , but I do owe him for helping us out with a new place to live! I want to be able to pay him back ASAP.

“This is _my_ son, Lance. I’m never going to be a disappointment to him! I’m never going to hurt him or make him cry or let anyone else make him cry . . . I want to be the one to provide for him, and – okay – I’ll need help . . . _yeah_. . . but that doesn’t mean I’ll take advantage or just let people do stuff for me. I’ll work hard and pay back every single cent.”

“Yeah, but it’s Zarkon’s grandson, too, so it’s not like it’s a –”

“I’ve already had that discussion with him,” said Lotor.

Lotor came behind Keith. He wrapped both arms around broad shoulders, while nuzzling into the side of Keith’s neck, and Lance noted – with a blush and a giggle – how the skin-to-skin contact did little to deter or distress Keith, but rather he arched his neck to allow for further touches and kisses and whispered words into his ear. They soon pulled apart with a lingering look, until the click of the oven timer made both jump. Lance laughed and Allura pulled the cake from the oven with a song sung low in the air. Keith smiled and shrugged.

“I just want to be a good influence,” mumbled Keith.

A chuckle erupted by the door, as Coran poked his head inside. Alfor stumbled inside with his shoulders hunched and head held low, while he poked and prodded at the screen before him and with headphones obscuring much of his head, and he took a seat where Lotor had sat before, with his legs carefully parted to balance his form. Coran strode inside and embraced Keith with a big smile, before he kissed his forehead and ruffled his hair.

“You started a business from scratch, my boy,” chirped Coran. “Who else turned a shack in the desert into a full mechanics’ shop in town with their own employee and apprentice? It won’t be long before you have a chain of shops across the country!”

“We also need to arrange for childcare and –”

“You’re looking at the man who single-handedly home-schooled you boys.” Coran winked and gave a thumbs-up gesture. “I’m more than happy to play house-husband again and watch my eldest grandchild, and – I must say – the offer extends to you in future, too, Lance! Lotor can continue to study and you can continue to work and Lance can continue to –”

Keith pulled away with a furrowed brow. He folded his arms across his chest with a pout, while he raised an eyebrow and huffed out a long breath, but Coran – simply looking to Lance and raking his eyes up and down, with a muttered ‘hmm’ – drew all attention to the barely visible swell of Lance’s stomach. Lance flushed a dark shade of red, before dropping his hands to his stomach and running circles over the flesh. Keith asked:

“Why are we talking about Lance? He wouldn’t –”

A loud squeal echoed from the kitchen. Allura dropped the cake onto the cooling rack, before she raced into the lounge and hugged Lance tight, and – letting go – she ran gloved hands over hair and face and body, as if checking for anything wrong. He blushed and swatted away her touches, while something dawned on Keith . . . he blushed, he stuttered, he stood with open mouth . . . no one expected Lance to be pregnant so soon, especially with Lotor due in a mere few weeks, and he struggled to make eye contact. Lance blinked back tears.

“Oh my god, are you -?” Keith paled. “Are you _pregnant_?”

“Okay, the – the father doesn’t know yet, so –”

“I’m going to be a grandmother to two?” Allura chirped. “Oh, I simply cannot wait! I would have preferred had you waited to finish college first, but we can defer your final year and we will help you to watch the little one during the day. You can still graduate.”

“I – I don’t know if I _want_ to graduate,” murmured Lance. “I got my associates already, right? I – I – I can get entry-level positions when I want, and I can continue my bachelor’s from home online, because I looked into that. I – I might be able to work from home, or just wait for my kid to start school, and my – my boyfriend earns enough to support us, while the rest he has in inheritance for us to always have a nice security net. We’ll be fine.”

“You want to stay at home?” Coran asked. “You’ve always _dreamt_ of having a career, lad! I supported you when you left your dream of being a fighter pilot, but it’s – it’s hard to support you when you are ditching a career altogether. I love you boys more than life itself, but it’s very difficult to be a stay-at-home parent, Lance. It’ll take up all your time.

“You’ll have to watch your partner live the life you sometimes miss. You’ll struggle to find time with other people your age. You’ll start to get _sick_ of nursery rhymes and cartoons and explaining the _same_ things over and over and _over_. . . it’s not an easy job.”

“The stress,” added Allura. “The duty. The responsibility.”

“The tantrums. The sleepless nights.”

Lance stepped away from them. He struggled to hold back his racing heart, as he cast his eyes back to Lotor . . . _‘we’re so happy for you!’, ‘you’ll be a natural parent’, ‘I have never met anyone wish such patience and intelligence’_. . . his hands trembled at his sides, while a dizzy spell overcame him and knocked him back a few more steps. Lance clung to the doorway, as he screwed shut his eyes and tried to fight back memories of Lotor proposing to Keith, stomach swollen after a few weeks of celebrations and congratulations. He shook his head.

“Are you guys trying to talk me out of being a house-husband or . . . being a parent?” Lance raised an eyebrow. “Seriously, I know it won’t be easy, but did you give this same lecture to Lotor and Keith? Why aren’t they being told how difficult it will be? I get told all about sleepless nights, but they get told how great the hugs and kisses are!”

“Yes, but your brother will not be a single parent,” whispered Allura. “We have not met your roommate, Lance. You have not even told us his name! You have gone to such lengths to keep him a secret from us, and – and I worry what part he will play in this child’s upbringing. Is it that you are ashamed of us and do not want us to meet him? Are you ashamed of him and do not wish to lose face by returning home? I see the bruise on your neck.”

A cold sense of dread overcame him. He swallowed back the bile on his tongue, while his throat burned and his stomach churned, and a hand instinctively reached for the bruise on his neck with a burning rage, as adrenaline coursed through every vein. He curled his lip and glared at Allura, while tears threatened to spill over his cheeks. The bruise was still sore. It was also something he thought hidden underneath his polo sweater, along with something that made him smile until this moment. Now there was only humiliation.

“Look, I’m not getting into that with Alfor here,” muttered Lance. “We have safe-words, okay? We have the green-yellow-red light system. He constantly checks in with me, and we arrange beforehand what we have planned and want to try, so it’s not like he’s beating me or hurting me. I – I guess sometimes we play these games more when he’s annoyed or angry or sad, as it’s a way for him to get out his emotions, but it’s all consensual!

“It’s not that I’m ashamed of you guys, because I _love_ you! You’re my family and gave me everything I ever dreamed, and I just wish I was a better kid to you guys, because I know I was a handful and I never meant to make you guys sad. It’s not that he beats me, either, because he’s never raised a hand to me or even raised his voice.

“I just – I – . . . I’m _scared_ , okay?” Lance blinked back tears. “I’m scared of losing you guys, as I know you’ll object and hate him and not give him a chance. He – He thinks I need to tell you, and he’s right, but . . . is he just saying that _knowing_ you’ll ditch me, so he can have me all to himself? Am – Am I just being a jerk thinking that? I – I – I know you’ll leave me. I don’t want you guys to hate me! I want my kid to have grandparents, uncles, _cousins_. . .”

“Is he the one making you think we’ll hate you?” Keith asked.

“See, you already think he’s some abusive asshole! I don’t know if it’s my fault, because I’m just giving you the wrong impression . . . I know I have issues with men and relationships and flirting and – and – and I know I have issues with trust, but – _for fuck’s sake_ – if you can’t trust him then you can trust me, right? He’s not abusing me. He even said that he’ll back off if I choose you guys, so he’s not even giving me an ultimatum!”

Lance dropped his hands to his stomach. He thought to how Shiro stopped their games, or at least dropped certain aspects . . . ‘ _tastes change, Lance’_. . . Lance was grateful. A few games felt too much a risk to their unborn child, but a part of him wondered if Shiro knew on some level or suspected. Lance smiled. The stress was growing, but the idea of returning home to Shiro . . . _kisses on his cheek, a warm meal waiting, questions about his day and unconditional support_. . . it made him feel better. Coran interrupted his thoughts with:

“But you feel _we’ll_ give you an ultimatum?”

There was no avoiding an answer. They could argue all day about whether there would be an ultimatum or not, but they would forever argue unconditional love until the name came out, and – at that point – the shit would finally hit the fan. He ran a hand over his stomach, while he bit into his lip until the taste of iron filled his mouth. The familiar sting grounded him. It was too much to process, too much to endure. Lance whispered in a low breath:

“It – It’s Shiro . . . Takeshi Shirogane.”

A cold silence descended upon them. Keith whispered and pleaded with him . . . _‘tell me it’s not true’_. . . Lance said nothing. There was nothing to be said. He could only listen as Keith let loose broken and uncontrollable laughter, each sound louder and more hysterical than the next, as he stumbled back and collapsed hard against the wall. Keith slid down and down and down . . . falling like a broken doll on the floor. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

Keith visibly shook. He rocked back and forth, with hands buried in his hair, while his cheeks turned a deathly shade of white, and Lance swallowed back his tears, as he lunged forward in an attempt to provide any form of comfort. Lotor slammed a hand into his chest. He pushed Lance back and curled his lip. Lance stood stunned, as Lotor slowly walked over to Keith and knelt at his side, and gently eased him into a sitting position, so that he could run his hands through black hair with soft shushes and quiet whispers. Keith brokenly babbled.

The front door clicked closed, as Allura ushered Alfor outside. Coran simply let out a shuddered sigh and kept to the sidelines, while he buried his face into his hands, and Allura started to pace back and forth with hands fisted at her sides. No one could stand to look at Keith, who – with bloodshot eyes – sat in a foetal position. He rocked. He babbled. Lotor cradled him to his side, but nothing would ease the apparent panic attack.

“He – He _abused_ me,” whispered Keith.

Lance fell back against the door. He panted for breath and tented his hands before his mouth, as he fought back the tears that threatened to spill, while Keith – swaying with dizziness and eyes half-lidded – had to be guided to lean back on the wall. Lotor held onto his hands, as they would close without any intention, as if they held a mind of their own . . . it only added to his panic, as he mumbled about his skin ‘crawling’ and ‘insects’ in his hair, and Coran audibly swallowed and dashed into the kitchen to fetch some water. He asked through tears:

“Why would you date a man like that, son?”

“I – I had a _lot_ of questions over the years,” whispered Lance. “I begged you guys over and over to let me just ask Shiro, but . . . I wasn’t allowed any contact with him. It felt like I had this big and looming shadow over me, as well as a part of me missing, and I just needed to know why he abused me and what he stood to gain from that . . . did he feel guilty? Did he care? Did he change? I didn’t know if he meant what he told me, if he lied . . .

“The second I turned eighteen, I hunted him down. I begged him for ages to meet with me, mostly over the phone and online, and – one day – he agreed to meet me in a public place, so that I would feel comfortable and he would feel safe. I think he was expecting me to arrange a lynching or something. I can’t blame him. A-Anyway, it was easy to set up. Only Keith had a restraining order, while the register only forbade contact with minors, but he checked with his probation officer anyway, just to be safe. It was all legal and above board.

“He explained he was exclusively attracted to minors. I – I looked into that, and apparently it’s a thing, but most people _never_ offend . . . like how attractions don’t equal actions? It’s about self-restraint and self-control, which we all have, and that people like that only get a bad reputation because we think of people like Shiro, never hearing about the rest. It was . . . interesting. I asked him how come he acted on his attractions, because he could have just ignored those feelings or found healthier outlets. Why us? Why _hurt_ us?

“Shiro just sipped his coffee. I thought he wouldn’t answer me at first, but he just . . . he broke down into tears and told me that it felt harmless at the time, like I enjoyed it and I didn’t really understand it and he didn’t think I _would_ be harmed. It was only with therapy that he realised that trauma can develop later on in life, when you _do_ understand what happened, and that what he did was an abuse of trust. He was repentant.”

“So why did you keep going back?” Coran asked. “ _Why_? You had your answers. He failed to realise he did something wrong, but later learned that it _was_ wrong. He was punished by law. He was punished by society. It sounds like you had closure . . . why go back?”

“Because he had no one,” admitted Lance.

. . . _swirling his tea coffee as if reading the grinds, while a frozen meal-for-one defrosted in a generic supermarket bag beside him, and a few fresh cuts left beads of blood on the sleeve of his organic arm . . . the mention of a big house, bought to obey the restraining order . . . graffiti on the old house, with ‘paedophile’ written in red across the garage door, the new owners struggling to sell with windows still smashed to this day, left to rot on the ground until one day it would be condemned . . . a hole in Lance’s heart . . . guilt . . ._

“He had no one . . .”

Keith slowly regained control of his breath. He drew in long and slow breaths, as Lotor counted and rubbed at his back, and he locked eyes with Lance, refusing to break his line of sight for even a few seconds. Keith pursed his lips into a fine white line. The pale cheeks looked sunken, and there were already bags under his eyes, as he visibly swallowed and struggled to climb to his feet. A wince crossed his features. Lotor again supported him at his side, while holding his hand and squeezing it tight. Lance shook his head.

“Do you know they _tortured_ him in prison?” Lance winced. “There was one day they ganged up on him in his cell, nearly raped him until a guard caught them last minute, and even the guard told him: ‘that’s only a taste of what your victim went through’. He was in voluntary solitary confinement after that . . . for _years_. . . I – I can’t blame him, though. Do you know the police threw him down the stairs? Do you know one guy set him on fire?

“This one Galra guy pinned him down once. He cut off his arm . . . just sawed right through it and let him there to bleed out . . . there isn’t an inch of him without some scar or wound, while he now has a cybernetic arm to replace the one lost. The remaining arm is _covered_ with scars, too, as he started self-harming at one point. He suffered enough, Keith!”

“No, he _hasn’t_ ,” spat Keith. “He hasn’t suffered enough!”

“He was tortured in there,” argued Lance.

“So the fuck what? I put up with his abuse in various forms for _four years_ , and now I have a lifetime sentence, as I try and put the pieces back together and get on with life, but what does he get in return for my trauma over a _decade_ onward? Five years in prison. _Five fucking years_ , because of good behaviour and signs of ‘rehabilitation’. That’s it! Five years.

“Is that what my life is worth? Is five years enough to pay back for thirteen years of therapy, which I _still_ have to go to work through my nightmares? Is five years enough to make up for four years of pretending to be asleep and _terrified_ to close my eyes? Is five years enough to make up for that year near the end, when he would beat me and sexually abuse me and let you _rape_ me? He made me eat shit when I ‘spoke shit’. He pissed all over me. He –!

“Okay, so _you_ got the good deal. You got to play ‘boyfriend’ to a grown man that spoiled you rotten, and who bought you treats and spoke nicely to you and who always made you come, sometimes even without expecting you to make him come in return. Well, bully for you! Five years might be enough punishment for you, but it’s – it’s – it’s not enough for me!”

Keith broke down. He wept as he collapsed again against Lotor, who fought to support his weight alongside an unborn child, and it took Allura to help guide him into the kitchen, where he lost consciousness just as they sat him down onto a stool. Coran splashed him with water, while forcing everyone to give him distance. It was unclear what Coran said, but a few whispered words brought Keith around . . .   _this is my fault_. . . Lance tasted tears and blood, as he wrapped his arms around his chest and held tight. Stars sparked across his vision.

“He – He’s changed,” choked Lance.

“Yeah?” Keith curled his lip. “He’s changed so much, but you’re too afraid to go to work. Why is that, Lance? Are you afraid to leave your child alone with the man that _raped_ you? Oh, that’s it, isn’t it? You’re afraid. You’re afraid he’ll hurt your child, so you want to be around _all_ the time to protect them. Is that how much he’s changed? Is it?”

“He’s still in therapy, Keith! He went to therapy, too.” Lance choked on his tears. “He wrote a book in solitary, too, about how a person can change and about how to get help, and he’s donated _all_ the proceeds to charity. He – He was so supportive with me, too, like he recommended forums with survivors and different types of therapy to try out, and he was one of the few people I could just _talk_ to about my abuse. He became a lifeline.”

“You – You used my abuser to _cope_ with your issues?”

“ _I was abused, too, Keith_! Do you really want to get into a pissing contest of who had it worse and who coped better? There _isn’t_ a chart of ‘what’s worse’ where I can just compare, you know? My depression is just as much valid as your anxiety, even if you think that your trauma trumps mine just because Shiro was rougher with you! Okay, so I wouldn’t want to endure what you endured, especially as I’d know I’d cope a lot worse, but –”

“But what? Did you try to kill yourself? Did you try to –”

“Oh, _fuck you_ , Keith! How do _you_ know what I did or didn’t do?” Lance wiped at his eyes. “It’s not as though I announced to the world when I tried to cut my wrist one time, or when I borrowed a sanitary towel from Katie to mop up the blood, because I couldn’t cope with being sent to boarding school! I – I thought it was because no one wanted me around. I have the scar to prove it, if my word isn’t good enough for you. Fuck you, man. Fuck you.”

Keith’s eyes widened. Lance instinctively grasped at his wrist, holding it tight as if he were back in that dormitory room with friends crowded around him in a panic, but the room was spinning and he was swaying until he stumbled away, and then something broke between them. Keith broke. He ran toward the front door at full speed, leaving everyone else behind as the door slammed shut with a loud echo, and Lotor – with a cry of frustration – stormed after him with a stolen look of contempt shot towards Lance. The door slammed again.

Every cry could still be heard, along with Alfor’s attempt at consolation. Lance wept into his hands, while he turned his back to his parents, and he said nothing as Allura came behind him, with a hand pressed softly to his shoulder with a trembling smile. The warm touch was a small comfort, although nothing like what Shiro could provide, and he missed the callused fingers and firm grip, even as he reached up to hold onto her hand. It grounded him. A small beacon of hope in an otherwise dark situation, as she whispered with warm breath:

“Lance, you must know that –”

“I got a job at his place, after a position opened up.” Lance shrugged. “I needed someone to room with me, so he offered and sold up his place to help me out, and we gradually started to fall in love . . . he – _he_ was the one to tell me ‘no’ at first. He thought I was just projecting onto him or repressing what happened or reverting to my childhood, but I – I _knew_ how I felt and I needed someone like him in my life. He offered unconditional support!

“Did I mean to fall pregnant now? No. We were using contraception, so unless you want to accuse him of poking holes in the condoms or something -? It was just an accident. I haven’t told him yet, but I’m going to tell him and I’m going to tell social services and I’m _keeping_ my baby. It – It may have to be that we live separately for a while, I don’t know. . .

“I’m hoping we can get by with regular assessments, so long as Shiro sees a therapist recognised and accepted by social services, but – if not – I’ll move out and we’ll make do with supervised visits, but I’m _not_ denying him access to his child. Why can’t he change? Why can’t he grow? Do we have to keep punishing him forever? How long until he’s paid for his crime? Five years? Ten? Twenty? A lifetime? _Never_? I can’t keep punishing him.”

Allura dropped her hand away. It left a cold spot on his shoulder, as he reached and instinctively touched where the lingering warmth vanished from his coat, and he turned to see her step away with a stern expression that brought lines to her face. The Altean race aged far slower, but still something aged her and cast shadows on her eyes. It cast a cold wave of nausea through him, as he slid a hand onto the doorknob and gripped tight, and he opened the door ready to run just as Keith ran. The car was only a five minute walk from there.

“Lance, if you choose to leave Shiro -?” Allura winced. “We never changed your old room, so it’s exactly how you left it, and we can convert Keith’s old room into a nursery. You can continue your education and go to work . . . your father can watch the child during the daytime. I will happily pay for more therapy for you, too, but . . .”

“I don’t _need_ to come home,” spat Lance.

“If you _choose_ to stay with Shiro, we will have to tell social services about the pregnancy. I know you said you will anyway, but we _can’t_ leave a child at risk, Lance! We also cannot allow Shiro to be in the presence of Keith . . . he must not be at any family event, while I shall _never_ allow you to baby-sit if he is present . . . he is a bad man, Lance, and I will not condone such a toxic union. I – I also cannot stop you as an adult.”

No further words were said. Allura burst into tears, as she raced past him and flung open the door, and soon she vanished into the air and left only a bitter quiet behind. He followed for a few steps and gazed outside. Alfor sat cross-legged on the porch with headphones off and phone in hand, while messaging rapidly back and forth with friends, and in the distance Keith could be heard sobbing in his workshop, while Allura stood by the various cars and kept her head low. Coran stood behind him and clapped a hand on his shoulder, as he chirped:

“It may be best if you leave for a while.”

“But I haven’t done anything –”

“I know, lad,” whispered Coran. “It’s just, well, you see how upset everyone is, and I must admit that I feel . . . broken . . . as if I’ve failed you, my boy. I thought I was doing right by you, but instead I’ve pushed you into the arms of your rapist. Will you do me a wee favour, though? Go to Hunk or Katie before you go home. Tell them everything.”

“I won’t change my mind,” murmured Lance.

Coran turned him around and placed a kiss to his forehead. A ruffle to the hair followed, along with a playful nudge to his jaw, and Coran nodded to him one last time, before he slipped outside and made his way to Allura. Lance was alone. He stumbled out next to Alfor, who looked up at him with wide eyes, while everyone else cried or argued or sought to process events. Lance ran his hands over his stomach, as he choked out in a whisper:

“I won’t change my mind . . .”

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

Keith sat upright.

The soft light from the router blinked beside the mattress, while boxes filled every corner of the bedroom in large piles and makeshift constructions, and – with a sigh – he ran a hand over his face with a loud yawn. Lotor stirred. He rolled onto his back, so that the large swell of his stomach caused the blankets to slide from his flesh, and Keith blushed as the bare form beneath was exposed, with long legs leading to a perfectly nested private area.

A beautiful glow was cast over Lotor. The windows still lacked curtains, which let in a great deal of light from the cars and lamps outside, and – every time a vehicle rolled by – the flashing lights would bring new shadows and illuminations to Lotor’s peaceful face. Keith reached down and stroked at his cheek. Lotor stirred with a low mumble, as blue eyes flickered open and a smile brought lines to the corners of his eyes, and he took Keith’s hand and lightly pressed kisses to the wrist. Keith heaved a shuddered sigh.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Lotor smiled, as he sat upright behind Keith. He spread his legs wide, allowing Keith to nestle between them with a blush, and wrapped his arms tight around his torso, while sighing with lament that they could be sit flush against one another. The baby bump separated them a little, although every kick was strong against Keith’s back, and he enjoyed how Lotor rested his forehead against his shoulder-blade. It afforded them some contact when contact was difficult. Keith ran his hands over the purple hue of Lotor’s legs with a low hum.

It was easy to love touches with Lotor. There was never a risk of Lotor refusing to let go, or holding too tight or touching for too long, and not once did Keith feel the claustrophobic panic that came with a tight embrace that refused to offer an iota of space. If he pulled away, Lotor would let him leave. If he nuzzled back, Lotor would let him dictate the pace. Keith smiled and interlocked their fingers, as he held them clasped before him.

“I needed to get up, in any case,” murmured Lotor. “The little one keeps pressing against my bladder, and _you_ keep tossing and turning to the point that an earthquake would be put to shame. Are you still concerned about Lance? Talk to me, my love.”

“I’m – I’m just scared that Mom will reject him.”

“Hmm, why would you fear that?”

“Well, she has, hasn’t she?” Keith shrugged. “Mom seems to think that Lance has chosen Shiro over us, and – I don’t know – I guess maybe he has in some respects, but equally . . . I don’t know . . . what happens when she cuts all ties with him? I – I _know_ Lance will realise he’s made a big mistake at some point, and I just don’t want him _stuck_ , you know?

“Mom basically said ‘come back alone or not at all’. What if Lance gets doubts? What if starts to get abused? He won’t go to her for advice or support, not if he thinks it’s a cold turkey situation where he has to ditch Shiro and has to instantly get over it. I also know he’s scared of losing face . . . always compares himself to other people . . . they’ve got him in a situation where he’s had to go ‘I know I’m right’, so to then admit he was wrong . . .”

Keith hunched forward and buried his face into his hands. He struggled to control his racing heartbeat, as he envisioned Lance staying with Shiro out of spite, just so as to avoid Allura saying ‘I told you so’, and he fought for breath with low pants. Lotor gently let go of him. It enabled Keith to take in a deep breath, although Lotor continue to place small touches to his t-shirt with every movement, and the continued touches – away from his skin – reminded him that he was not alone. He had Lotor. Keith swallowed hard, as Lotor whispered:

“Do _you_ want to support him?”

A rustle echoed through the room, as Lotor took a robe from a travel-closet. The silk slid over his skin like water, before clinging perfectly to his figure in all areas, and Lotor – pulling out his hair from beneath the collar – glared towards the naked panes of glass. A few seconds passed, until Lotor turned red and flung open his robe. Keith burst out laughing when he heard Lotor yell out: ‘do you like what you see’? He bit his lip to stifle the laughter.

He continued to chuckle, even as Lotor snatched at a water bottle. It was soon tossed over the windows, before newspaper from pressed to the glass, and soon a makeshift barrier was created to prevent their neighbour across the street from peering in from his windows. Keith smirked. He wished he thought of it sooner, but already Lotor perched on the bedside table with a warm expression, as if he had not just flushed a neighbour that would be unlikely to look them in the eye for the next few weeks. Lotor crossed his legs at the ankle.

“You don’t have to have an answer now,” whispered Lotor.

“I _want_ to support him, but I think I still resent him.” Keith shrugged. “I don’t hate him, and I want him to get better, but I just . . . I can’t _see_ him right now. I also hate how Pops is handling this, too! It’s like he doesn’t want to piss off Mom, so he’s keeping his distance and sneaking in odd calls and emails to Lance, but then Lance is _terrified_ of worrying him or alienating him, because he’s all he has left, so he keeps faking everything is perfect!

“Lance has to be strong for Coran. Lance can’t even talk to Allura. No one wants to go to his place knowing it’s where Shiro lives, plus it’s not like Shiro could ever come to family events with the restraining order, and Allura won’t let Alfor anywhere near Lance. I just don’t know what to _do_. Is disowning him _really_ going to help him? It feels too harsh.

“I – I also didn’t know that Lance tried to kill himself. I – I – I should have . . . I should have _known_ , but I – I just . . . does that make me selfish? Fuck, am I still making it all about me? I kept telling him to keep working on his relationship, _supporting him_ , but a-all this time h-he was with -! I need to call him, don’t I? I need to make sure he’s okay. I _hate_ what he’s done, but I don’t hate him. Does – Does that make me the weird one here?”

Lotor slid onto the floor again. He winced and rubbed at his stomach, but awkwardly waddled on his knees before Keith, before he cupped both cheeks with warm hands, and slowly stroked patterns on his skin with long fingers. Keith nuzzled into the touch, before pressing kisses to a soft wrist. It was all Lotor needed. He leaned forward and pressed their lips together, teasing a kiss from Keith, until he pulled back with panted breath and wiped at the forming tears that threatened to spill from grey-blue eyes. Lotor shook his head.

“No, my love,” whispered Lotor. “It is a normal reaction.”

“I need to know he’s not being abused.”

“Ring him now.” Lotor kissed at his cheek. “Have the conversation that you should have had a week ago, before Coran sent him away and all contact was lost, and see whether he can put your mind to rest. In the meantime, the kitchen and lounge are finished, yes? I will go make us some cocoa and that will help to relax your mind. I’ll be right back.”

Keith waited as Lotor struggled to his feet. The house was a simple two-story affair, already baby-proofed much to Lotor’s often complaints, and he wondered whether Lotor would be able to open the toilet this time, as the last time ended in a water right borne from frustration. He waited for the footsteps to make their way to the baby-gate, before crawling over to the bedside table and snatching the mobile phone from the surface.

He dropped down onto the mattress, while staring up at the dark ceiling. Lotor sang a low song from the kitchen, one taught by Honerva as a link to his Altean heritage, and it echoed up through the stairwell along with the sound of an electric kettle boiling along. A long minute passed, as Keith blinked back his tears, and he swallowed hard as he typed in the code to unlock the phone, while a trembling finger dialled for Lance . . . _one ring, two rings, three rings_. . . a familiar click was followed by a loud and obnoxious yawn.

 _‘Yo, Lance speaking,’_ called a voice.

“You sound pretty awake for so late at night.”

A loud _‘shit’_ echoed down the line. A fumbling sound followed, along with what sounded like a dropped phone and someone lazily mumbling beside him, and soon a rustle of fabric was the only thing heard, along with the click of a door. Keith pinched the bridge of his nose, as he tried not to envision what he likely disturbed. He was simply glad that Lance thought to get some privacy, so that Shiro would be unable to hear the whole conversation, and apparently Lance had a similar thought, as he stuttered out in a panic:

_‘I – ah – I wasn’t – I didn’t think you –’_

“It’s okay,” muttered Keith. “I’m – er – sorry I didn’t call sooner, Lance. I just needed time to process everything, you know? We’ve also been pretty swamped with the new house. Lotor is annoyed as I’m wanting to do things room by room . . . keep it organised. My therapist says my need for strict order is a result of wanting to control the uncontrollable, like this ‘intolerance of uncertainty’, but it’s driving Lotor crazy. He’s nesting.

“I’m going to set up the bed tomorrow, before I head to work. I think – I think he’ll have the whole room sorted out by the time I get back, but he says he can’t get anything started until the furniture is all done, and Zarkon is _this close_ to just hiring a guy to do it, and no one gets that I _need_ to do it in order, so . . . time for me to compromise, right?”

_‘Er, you know that sounds like OCD, dude? I had this co-worker who was like really anal, but it was because he was trying to control the bad thoughts and fight off the panic attacks, so his weird behaviours were a way of fighting off the anxiety.’_

“Yeah, my therapist said that, too”, confessed Keith.

 _‘I – I can come help you?’_ Lance swallowed. _‘I can’t do heavy lifting, but I’ve always had a knack for design and organisation! I could come around and make you tea while you build, then hang around with Lotor and decorate? I bet you haven’t even put the curtains up or the rug down, have you? Plus, I have a ton of pregnancy questions.’_

“That might be great, actually, at least until the baby is born.”

_‘Oh, you – ah – don’t want me around the baby?’_

Keith flinched. He lowered the phone for a few seconds, where the contact photo revealed the smiling face of his brother, and his eyes soon turned to the ultrasound photograph framed on the bedside table, where the small boy could be seen with fisted hands. It was a beautiful sight. He bore the ears of Lotor, a clear marker of his Altean nature, but otherwise looked primarily human in nature, and Keith wondered whether he would be born with the same purple hue of the father that bore him. Keith swallowed hard and confessed:

“I want you around, but Mom and Zarkon would freak.”

_‘I can still see you, though, right?’_

“Yeah, I would like that.” Keith smiled. “I’ll work on Zarkon, too. I think he’ll be fine so long as your roommate remains ‘the roommate’ and no one talks about him, but Mom is a whole other story. I might just have to put my foot down. I’m just scared then that she’ll be around _all_ the time, so you can’t be around, but she’s not that petty, right?”

 _‘I don’t know, man. I always thought that’s where_ you _got it from.’_

“Fuck you, Lance,” laughed Keith.

Lance laughed in turn, as Lotor returned. The tray in his hands was filled with cups of cocoa and various biscuits, and the steam wafted into the air with a delicious aroma, as Lotor struggled to bend down to place the tray between them. Keith swore and quickly darted for the pregnancy pillow. He helped guide Lotor down into a comfortable sitting position, with the pillow wrapped around his lower back for balance and support, before crawling behind him with the phone balanced between cheek and shoulder. He gave a low hum.

A few second passed with Lance having a low conversation with someone unseen, enough that Keith had to hiss for him to keep the volume down lest another panic attack strike, and – as Lance apologised and the other voice was silenced – Keith worked his thumbs into Lotor’s back and massaged his muscles free form knots. Lotor let loose low moans that nearly caused Keith to drop the phone, as he swallowed hard and fought to find strength to ask:

“Lance, I need to ask you and I need you to be honest. Is –”

 _‘No, Shiro isn’t abusing me,’_ sighed Lance.

The words barely processed, as Lotor let his robe fall loose to his waist, and – while it was meant solely to aid the massage – a high-pitched squeak escaped his lips, as he lightly stroked at the purple skin that was smooth to perfection. There was not a single mark. Keith knew from experience that the only scar was a small one on Lotor’s knee, obtained during a _kendo_ match in his youth, and a burn on his left finger from trying to work the new stove. The idea of any other permanent marks or injuries caused his stomach to flip and turn.

“You had bruises on your neck, Lance,” said Keith.

 _‘Yeah, we – we like to play around, that’s all.’_ Lance sighed. _‘I told you about the age-play stuff? I – I think that’s enough to give him an outlet, although I know he has some fantasies and stuff that he thinks about when alone, and we talk about this stuff a lot, too, so that sometimes he gets off on memories and just dirty talk, but that’s it. He stays away from temptation. He’s deleted all social media. He’s still in therapy._

 _‘I think . . . I think he also has some anger issues, too. He’s_ perfect _with me, but he has so much going on and lost so much and endured so much, and the BDSM gives him a way to lash out in a safe and controlled manner. He gets to ‘punish’ me, but with boundaries and limitations and with me in full control. It’s a safe way to just vent.’_

“I – yeah – I don’t . . . I don’t get that.” Keith winced. “I know Lotor likes things rough at times, but he’s _never_ left bruises or asked me to leave bruises, and – yeah – doesn’t that _hurt_ and why would you _want_ to be hurt? What happens if you said ‘no’, too? Would he start hurting people like he hurt me? Oh God, was _I_ his stress-relief toy back then?”

_‘I don’t know, Keith. I don’t like to think about our abuse, neither does Shiro, but I know he said that he was in love with me and thought of me as a partner, and he didn’t want to hurt me because of that, so he transferred a lot of his anger onto you instead. Like two separate roles, which is why he never anally raped you . . . he considered that “cheating”. We spent like a year in therapy before we had sex, but a lot of the early stuff . . .’_

Keith struggled to stay upright. He swayed with a dizzy spell, breaths coming out in pants, until Lotor tossed his robe to the side and gently lay Keith down, as he put the phone onto speaker and asked Lance to remain patient. The blankets were pulled high to his neck, before Lotor slid in beside him and propped himself up on his elbow, and a hot mug of cocoa was pressed into his hands, with the warmth grounding him and helping him to sit upright once more, as he took low and long sips. He licked at his lips and asked in a low voice:

“A lot of the early stuff was what?”

The phone sat between them, where Lotor lazily flicked through old photographs in an attempt to pass time and provide a distraction from the serious discussion, and – with a sigh – Keith smiled to see moments of their lives immortalised on screen. It did little to stop his racing heart or the cold sweat on his flesh, but it helped him to steady his breathing and control the tremors to his hands. Lotor smiled and reached out to squeeze his leg through the blanket, while nodding slowly to him and miming ‘it will be okay’.

 _‘He’s not primarily attracted to adults,’_ murmured Lance. _‘We had to reconcile with that and find compromises, as he_ is _romantically in love with me, and I’m both romantically and physically attracted to him, but then there is also his sexual needs. The BDSM we researched in full, also made sure to discuss it with our therapist, but it helps us both and it gives Shiro an outlet and makes him feel better. I also like making him happy.’_

“Is that _why_ you’re happy? Do you even want to do that stuff?”

 _‘I think – I think it makes life easier. Shiro never saw us grow up, so he’s gone from like eight years of memories of me as a child, with that whole sexual relationship, to like – like – like this time-skip of me at eighteen and an abstinent relationship for the first year. He had to totally process stuff and reconsider our dynamics. I wasn’t this kid that just obeyed his every word, but he didn’t_ want _me to be that kid, either, and sometimes I_ did _want to be that kid._

 _‘The role-play lets us work through our issues. We can sometimes see the “what if” of how things would be in certain circumstances, and sometimes we can go back in time and I can work through my traumas, as now_ I _have full control. Once Shiro got off on the fact he could say ‘no’ to me, and that he didn’t have to be this abuser, and we just . . ._

 _‘It was nice, because he asked me to take control. We had the lights on, and I had some hair grow through, and he asked me to act and talk like an adult, but he_ loved _it because – like I say – he knew he was making love to the adult and not to the kid. It puts him in a great mood, too, and he’ll be so sweet and affectionate and sometimes he’ll hang out with my friends or I’ll hang out with his, and we’ll just feel . . . complete. It works for us.’_

“Okay, so what happens when it doesn’t work?”

_‘He gets grumpy at times. We’re going to couples counselling about that, though, as I sometimes think he’s being passive-aggressive and possessive, and he’ll think I’m being paranoid and trying to control him, but we both know – logically – our feelings aren’t objective reality. We have time alone, or time just with our friends, but sometimes I feel guilty about leaving him and he’ll always be so happy when I get home!’_

A dreamy sigh drifted down the line. Keith bit into his lip and sipped at the cocoa, as he half-squinted into the steam with a low hiss of breath . . . it was natural to be happy when your partner came home, but could Shiro also be exaggerating it to manipulate Lance? The memories were still strong . . . how Shiro carefully worded all sentences, how he played up every emotion to the extreme, how he always made Lance feel in charge . . . Keith placed the mug on the floor beside him, before clenching his fists. His knuckles turned white.

“It doesn’t sound healthy, Lance,” muttered Keith. “It sounds like you have a lot to work through, plus he could be just grooming you and gaining your trust, and what happens when he turns? He’s already being nice when it goes his way, but passive-aggressive when it doesn’t. How long until he punches you when pissed, then tries to make up for it with presents when happy? It’s consensual bruises now, but how long until –?”

 _‘Keith, can we not argue about that? He won’t be abusive.’_ Lance sighed. _‘I’m not an idiot, though, and I have all the information for various shelters and understand the processes for restraining orders and I took all the self-defence classes, too. I was raised by Pops. Do you really think he’d let me go through life without knowing_ all _channels of available help?’_

“Okay, but what if he _is_ abusive?”

 _‘What if Lotor is abusive?’_ Lance grunted and hissed. _‘Look, we deal with what’s in front of us, Keith. It’s the first thing our couples’ therapist told us: if you start planning for the worst, you’re expecting the worst, and expecting the worst means you don’t believe your partner capable of the best. It’s symptomatic of a lack of trust. You put in coping mechanisms for what you do struggle with, but you can’t plan for every potential problem ever.’_

Lotor shrugged beside Keith, but his lips were pursed into a white line. A loud beep of a car horn echoed outside, while someone else screeched to a halt, and he noticed the red light of the sunrise just peeking up from the corner of the window. Keith slid down into the bed, before he nuzzled close against Lotor and dropped the phone down onto Lotor’s opposite side, so that he could chase the footprints of their unborn son with a smile. The colour soon drained from his face. Keith bolted upright and grabbed at the phone, as he choked out:

“And – And what about your kid?”

 _‘What about them?’_ Lance asked. _‘I told Shiro, if that’s what you mean. He said he already suspected, which is why he was laying off the BDSM, but he didn’t want to say anything in case I thought he was calling me fat.’_ A loud laugh escaped Lance’s lips. _‘I kept touching my stomach, too, apparently. I didn’t even realise I was doing it, but he noticed.’_

“And how is he going to resolve his attraction to minors with having a kid?” Keith swallowed back the bile. “Is my nephew going to be in danger? Shiro couldn’t keep his hands off you, Lance, so how will he keep his hands off a kid _always_ around him with easy access?”

 _‘I asked him about that. He says that he’s not attracted to_ all _minors, just like how you’re gay and not attracted to_ all _men, and that he doubts he could be attracted to his own son or daughter when he’ll have such a strong paternal bond. He also admits, though, that rape isn’t about attraction . . . it’s about power. It terrifies him. He wants – He wants to be a normal adult and have a loving family, but he’s_ so scared _of making those mistakes . . ._

 _‘We plan to increase his therapy sessions to thrice weekly when the baby is born,’_ said Lance with a sigh. _‘We’ll increase couples therapy to twice a week, too, and then decrease once he feels that he can cope and secure with the safety net. If he truly struggles, he’s put the money from his inheritance into a trust fund for our child and future children. So – ah . . ._

_‘It means . . . it means – with an amicable break-up, in case of the worst – I can buy a place in our children’s names and they won’t lose out on their money, as the property will be theirs once they turn eighteen along with any remaining finances. We can then set up arranged and supervised visits, and Shiro can increase his therapy, and we can still be a family, even if we can’t be under the same roof for a few years. I trust him not to hurt anyone.’_

Keith buried his face into the crook of Lotor’s neck. He screwed closed his eyes, while his legs entwined with Lotor’s and his fisted hands rested high on his chest, and he fought back the urge to argue or scream or weep or run, as Lotor ran his fingers through his growing hair and hummed a low tune. Lance babbled aimlessly, picking up on his discomfort, but soon there was too much stimulus and he grew overwhelmed, unable to process everything at once, and he pulled away to sit alone on his side of the mattress, while all else fell silent.

“Lance, I still have reservations, but I’m glad you’ve thought through every situation. I just – I just wish things could go back to before I knew about Shiro, when it was just us and no pressures or fears or concern, but . . . I can’t go back and erase it from my mind. I won’t get rid of my restraining order, but I do want you in my life and to still see you.”

 _‘I – I miss you, too. I want my kid to grow up with his cousin . . . I want to drop him off at sleepovers, because – because – because you’re the_ only _person I would trust not to hurt him, and – and I know it’s wrong, but I couldn’t even leave him with Shiro or Pops or –’_

“I know what you mean. We both went through the same thing.”

_‘We both couldn’t do that to anyone else.’_

A tear rolled down Keith’s cheek. He drew in a deep breath, as Lotor quickly typed something on the screen and showed him the message, and Keith read: ‘tell him to come tomorrow at seven’. A smile crept over his lips, as he sniffed and tasted salty tears on his tongue, and – with a shuddered sigh – he returned to lying at Lotor’s side and held onto his hand between them, so that the soft pad of his thumb could trace loose patterns. The streetlights were now off, but the shadows seemed ever longer under the rising sun.

“Lotor says to come around for breakfast,” said Keith. “Tomorrow at seven? I – I don’t know what happens going forward, but I _can’t_ lose my brother, Lance. I don’t know if you’ll get to see Alfor or our son or what others might think, but . . . don’t leave me?”

_‘I couldn’t leave you, pal. You’re Keith! My Keith.’_

“Would it be cheesy to say ‘I love you’.”

_‘Only if I said it back.’_

Keith laughed and shook his head. He remained still as Lotor took some lotion from the side-table, which he used to massage into his stomach as part of his morning routine, and Keith – with calmness returning – realised that it was time to shower and dress. He would need to set up the bed and wardrobe, maybe get to the high places that would be dangerous for Lotor or Lance, and set up the curtains and lampshades at the same time, but in the meantime he enjoyed resting beside the man he loved. Lance gasped and suddenly chirped out:

_‘Got to go, but the morning is on! Tell Lotor I said hi.’_

The phone clicked to signal the end. The screen flicked to life and then turned black. Keith groaned and stood to shuck off his shorts and t-shirt, before fussing around the chest-of-drawers to find something to wear, but – as Lotor lay naked and massaging his skin – a part of him jumped awake and refused to go down at the sight. He flushed a deep shade of red and mumbled about nothing in particular, while Lotor laughed and asked in a warm voice:

“Did the phone call help, Keith?”

“Yes and no,” mumbled Keith. “It might take a while for me to forgive him, but Lance hasn’t done anything wrong, has he? So how can I forgive someone when there’s nothing to forgive and how can I not resent him for something I really resent? I love him and I hate him, but I don’t want to lose him and I don’t want our kid to miss out on him.”

“I think it is best to remember that Lance is also a victim. He simply does not see the danger or how he has been manipulated, but naivety is not the same as vindictiveness. I think you would regret disowning your brother in the long-run, my love.”

“No, you’re right, but it’s still a lot to process.”

Keith turned and walked towards the mattress. He dropped down onto all fours and crawled over to Lotor, who – parting his legs and tossing the moisturiser into a waiting hand – smirked and simply made a come-hither motion with a long finger. They still had a few hours before any guests arrived, and Keith needed to forget . . . needed to feel loved and wanted and safe in the arms of someone that would never hurt him. He pressed kisses to an eager mouth, as tears streamed down his cheeks and he choked out:

“Thank you, Lotor.”


	14. Chapter 14

“Please, just take him.”

Keith buried his face into his hands. Everyone stared in his direction, as Throk cried from his pushchair just beside the dining table. He could hear their whispers . . . _‘who brings a child to a café?’, ‘can’t he shut that kid up’, ‘I bet the mother just wanted a break’ . . ._ each voice was audible over the high-pitched screams, which grew so intense that Throk’s tiny purple cheeks turned a terrible shade close to black with the flush to his skin. He wailed.

He would stop breathing at times, choking on the air itself, while tiny hands fisted and legs kicked off the blankets from his body, and – every time – Keith would feel bile rise in his throat with horror and shame, before reaching across the table toward Throk. Throk would grab for his finger. He would jerk back. A few long seconds past, as he glanced to the steam of his coffee mug and his mouth watered in anticipation, but Throk continued to scream and choke and cry and whine. Keith’s heart raced, as a cold sweat broke over his skin.

It was difficult to breathe. He was close to hyperventilation, as he panted and swallowed back the acid in his throat, but a cold sweat made his clothes cling to him like a second skin. The café was overwhelming him with sights and sounds . . . _sunlight reflecting from the table and burning his retinas, thick scent of coffee beans mixing with perfume and pollen, chattering that clamoured against others sounds and merged into a senseless cacophony of noise . . ._

“Please, Pops,” begged Keith. “I – I can’t call Lotor again.”

Keith lifted his head. Allura sat beside him with skirts neatly folded, as she rubbed at his back and hummed an old tune, and Coran sat with the diaper bag next to him, as he counted up the formula and double-checked the schedule left by Lotor. A few more seconds past, as Keith broke down and started to sob into his hands. Coran quickly shot him a thumb up. There was a rustling noise, followed by a click of buckles being undone, and then . . . _silence_. . .

A loud sniff escaped Keith, as he saw Throk cradled in Coran’s arms. He was still small for three-months, with a tuft of black hair that was always mussed over his Altean ears, and with grey-blue eyes staring up from purple skin. He was also quiet. Throk giggled and murmured, as Coran bounced him with little pats to his back in a strange rhythm, and – every other pat – he would make a long and high ‘ooh’ sound, followed with ‘baby’ and a funny face. A few quiet minutes passed, until Coran pressed a bottle to his lips and he ate with ease.

“He hates me,” mumbled Keith.

Allura sighed and placed a hand on his shoulder. A woman walked by with a smile, asking if the young one was teething, and – much to his anger – directed all questions to Allura . . . no one ever assumed he was the parent, no one ever asked for his opinion . . . Keith tensed and dropped his hands around the mug, as he sipped at the coffee. The woman soon left, before complimenting Throk. A loud sigh escaped Allura, as she pressed a kiss to his head and played with his hair, and he tensed as he fought the urge to pull away. Allura whispered:

“He does not hate you, my love.”

“Indeed,” chirped Coran. “Do you know babies respond to your emotions? I – I was married before I met your mother, and the first time I held my baby . . . why . . . I was _so_ tense and scared and uncomfortable, so she would scream and scream and scream! One night, I picked her up out of instinct with a yawn, and – would you know it – she laughed and loved me!”

“That is right,” added Allura. “I have seen you tense, Keith. The baby is not reacting to you, but merely wanting a soft body to cuddle against, as opposed to hard muscles, but for times like this . . . you will not hold him. He just wants human contact.”

“It’s the only way they can communicate, too.”

“Okay, but it’s just so _stupid_ ,” spat Keith. “He cries when he wants to be held, but _why_ does he want to be held? If he’s healthy and comfortable and doesn’t need anything, why not just lie there and be happy, why is he only happy when he’s being touched and coddled and fussed? Plus, it’s not as though I’m a bad parent. I do _loads_ for that kid!

“I know Lotor wakes up to feed him, but I wake up too! I make all his bottles, I clean all his bottles, and I take the diapers to the trash, too. I make his baths, even if I don’t bathe him, and I set up the car seat, made the house baby-proof, bought all his toys . . . I set up a savings account for college, and I watch all his stupid cartoons, and I even lay out his outfits for the next day! I wash his clothes. I schedule his appointments. Why – Why is that not enough?”

Keith dropped his head onto a hand. He spun the coffee mug in circles, until the soya cream on top formed swirling patterns, and the scent of coffee drifted up with a soft comfort, but the phone in his pocket already buzzed with Lotor’s face flashing on the screen . . . _‘why did you not answer my call?’, ‘is the baby okay?’, ‘did he eat all his food’_. . . Keith winced. No one asked after him any longer, but only after Throk. It was as if a part of him died when the baby was born, so that his identity as ‘Keith’ was overridden with the label of ‘father’.

The soft suckles soon died away, as Coran threw a blanket over his shoulder. It would be the soft and firm pats next, then the little burp, and then the bizarre excitement over the natural expulsion of gas that would result in disgust should it come from any adult. He was expected to be happy about the size of faeces and the amount of vomit, when he would rather talk about the latest engines in the workshop or fix a radiator with Coran.

“I – I know things were tough for you as a child,” said Allura. “I know that touch was difficult for you with your autism, but that you also grew to associate touches with abuse, and that was further complicated by becoming touch-starved . . . you wanted to be touched, but feared what it brought, and then were overwhelmed by the sensory overload.”

“You know Lance had it worse, right? He always wanted –”

“Lance had very different issues, my love. My point is that this child also wants to be touched and held, but I fear now that those old issues are even further complicated . . . you worry where the lines are and whether you may cross them, so you deny all touch in its entirety.”

“Touch is how babies bond, Keith,” added Coran. “It’s okay to be uncomfortable, and you do a _lot_ to share in responsibilities and help your family, but . . . babies can’t _reason_ like we can, son. We know you share love by watching him when he sleeps, preparing his milk exactly how he likes it best, and memorising his every quirk, but he . . . he doesn’t know you watch him or who makes the milk or what you remember. He just knows you don’t hold him.”

Throk burped and squirmed. Coran gently lowered him onto his lap, as he pulled back the blanket and squealed with glee at the lack of sick-up, and Keith – raising an eyebrow – turned to Allura with a deadpan expression, only to hear soft giggles as Allura pressed a kiss to his hair once again. The quiet was soon broken up by strange noises and contorted expressions, as Coran moved his head back and forth away from Throk, and Throk laughed in turn, as if someone sticking out their tongue was the height of comedy. Keith groaned out:

“So what do I do?”

“You go back to therapy,” said Allura. “You need a way to process your emotions. If you cannot parent according to convention, that is fine so long as you and your family are happy with your unconventional means, but I worry about your guilt and stress. It is important that you remember that you are not in the wrong. You are entitled to your emotions.”

“I can also teach you ways to compromise!” Coran smiled. “We will get you a proper set of gloves, while there are ways to hold the baby on your lap at a bit of a distance, but that Throk still feels held. I can teach you how to swaddle the baby, too, maybe get you a front-carrier?”

“Oh, a front carrier would be wonderful! It would allow you would be close.”

“But without any embracing or holding, too.”

Allura pulled out her phone, with a shopping site already on display. He looked at a variety of front-carriers, as Allura pointed out various pros and cons, and – with tears in his eyes – he laughed to see how so many men and women kept their children close, as if being held, but with enough detachment to retain autonomy and save space. The skin-to-skin contact was still optional, but they were also _close_ and the babies looked so happy. Keith quickly added one to the basket, as he smiled to Throk and waved at him with a large gesture.

“Thanks, guys,” whispered Keith.

A sleeve was rolled too far down on Throk’s left arm, with the café rather warm indoors and with so many machines whirring, and Keith – with a roll of his eyes – reached across the table to quickly unbutton the light jacket and pull it expertly off tiny arms, so that Throk was left in a blue baby-grow. Throk blinked back with surprise, as if amazed that someone hadn’t jostled and disturbed him with the usual efforts of trying to undress such awkward attire.

Keith threw the garment into the air. He caught it in one hand, with a smirk of pride, and tossed it into the diaper bag, as he dropped back with arms draped across the backs of the booth, while Coran lifted Throk and gestured to hand him back. Keith paled. A brief shake of his hand was all it took, before Allura took the baby with a sigh, and gently rocked him back into a deep sleep, as he mumbled strange sounds until silence returned. Keith heaved a shuddered sigh in turn, as he leaned down to press a kiss to the purple forehead.

“Ah, I – er – spoke to Lance on the phone,” mumbled Coran.

“Let us not bring down the mood,” said Allura.

“Well, I think he’s been struggling a wee bit, too. I – I thought it might be good to arrange a play-date at a neutral location . . . we could have a barbeque on the balcony, while Throk and Ren play together, and Alfor could keep watch over them . . . sometimes – sometimes the worst part about being a parent is feeling alone. Well, Keith isn’t alone.”

“I’ve been talking to Lance, actually,” confessed Keith. “We talk almost entirely on the phone, because Zarkon is _really_ adamant that Throk has nothing to do with him, and I know Mom has some issues with us spending time with Lance, too. It’s been awkward, because it means Lotor and I can only see Lance when no one else is present, and that usually means out in public somewhere, but then we need to make time and finding time with kids -?”

“That’s why it’s easier to bring the kids along,” said Coran. “I’ll have words with Zarkon. I’m sure he’ll come around when he realises Shiro will have _nothing_ to do with his grandson, and – well – if he doesn’t . . . maybe we can arrange with Lance to babysit his little one, too, so that way you can both be free at the same time. That may be an idea, yes?”

“I – I would like that. It feels like I’m missing a brother . . . Lotor and I balance it pretty well with Throk, and we’re sorted our work and college schedules to complement each other, but then when there’s an emergency -? I want to ring Lance, but I can’t. It hurts.”

“You can always ring us,” whispered Allura.

“Yeah, but you’re just missing the point! You don’t get it.”

Keith tried to stand, only for the edge of the table to knock him back. The window stood sharp on his left, so that he was effectively boxed into a corner, and his heart raced as Allura winced and blinked back tears. He swallowed hard. Coran reached across the table with an upturned palm, while he smiled bright and left his hand flat on the table, and Keith – with a deep breath – reached for him and squeezed for reassurance. Coran nodded slowly to him, which helped to slow Keith’s heartbeat and enabled the sweat to retreat.

“Lance will come back to us,” said Coran. “I promise.”

“What if he doesn’t? I miss him.”

“I – I don’t know if Shiro’s changed, but I know that Lance is still the same beautiful and intelligent and empathetic angel as when he was born. I think eventually he’ll see this isn’t healthy with Shiro . . . he’s never been in any other relationship, and now he has a kid he’s probably scared to leave for a whole different set of reasons, but . . . time will change that.

“He’ll eventually see how happy and trustworthy other couples are, and realise with his inner strength that he can cope alone, and he’ll miss the career he always wanted. When that happens, he’ll leave Shiro and need a family to fall back upon. I’m not turning my back on my boy, and you better not turn your back on your brother, too! _There, I said it_. I don’t care how much your mother glares at me, because my boys both need me and that’s that.”

Coran pouted with arms thrown across his shoulder. It was difficult to choke back on laughter, as Keith saw – in that exact instant – Lance sulking and staring at the table, and it was easy to see where both Lance and Alfor inherited their extroverted and expressive natures. Allura glared for a long few seconds, with cheeks puffed out and lips pursed into a white line, but something sparked in Coran’s eyes and his lip trembled, and she could only sigh and sag her shoulders in response. A whispered ‘I understand’ escaped her lips.

The brief quiet was broken with a sniff, as Coran wiped away a tear from his eye. He met Allura’s gaze and swallowed hard, while she simply nodded and murmured an apology in Altean, before balancing Throk in her arm and reaching across to take his other hand, which he offered with a smile. Coran squeezed both their hands, before pulling away with a blush and scratching at his moustache with eyes cast low. Keith sighed and asked:

“What if Shiro hasn’t changed?”

“We will still welcome Lance back to our home,” said Allura. “It is not that I seek to reject Lance, but to minimise the damage. We often have Throk and Alfor in our home, as such it is important to keep them safe, but I would not allow Lance to remain in harm’s way.”

“Do – Do you think I can see Lance . . . with Throk around?”

“I think . . . I think that is between you and Lotor.”

The wince across her features spoke volumes. There was no way – were it in her power – that Lance would be allowed near the children while still with Shiro, but equally her glances toward Coran revealed something deeper at play . . . if forced to pick between wife and child, Coran would unconditionally pick his child. Keith swallowed hard. He looked down to his son and thought to Coran, as well as the swell of love he felt when Throk was born and holding him for the first time, and that overwhelming awe that this person _needed_ him.

“You are a good father, Keith,” said Coran.

Keith cried. It was quiet and soft, but he raised his fists to his eyes just like as a child. He laughed and swallowed back the taste of tears, before licking his lips and nodding to Coran, who appeared on the verge of tears in turn, and Keith – reaching for his hand with a squeeze – found the courage needed to take back control. A soft sigh escaped him, as he reached for Throk and pulled him into his arms, and – for the first time – he did not scream.

“You know, I never thanked you guys.” Keith kissed at Throk. “I never realised how much you love a child until I had one, but I never realised how hard it is either. You guys -? You guys did so much for me. You gave me a _life_. I – I just . . . thank you.”

Throk stirred and whined, but Coran made a loud hushing noise. Keith copied him. The sound caused Throk’s face to contort, before it softened and a big yawn erupted from his lips, and soon he was calm and sleeping and content in Keith’s arms. Keith wept. He buried his face against Throk, breathing deep the baby scent, as he cast watery eyes to Coran and saw in him an unconditional love and line of support, and he prayed it was something he could bestow on his son over time. Keith nodded to Coran and smiled.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

 


	15. Chapter 15

Ren was beautiful.

The nest of brown hair was mussed. Lance would constantly stroke it flat, but every time he would nuzzle his nose against the soft scalp and it would grow messy again. The light brown skin hid a pair of beautiful black eyes, while tiny hands were hidden beneath a hand-knitted cardigan, as the Altean markings and Altean ears stood out against white blankets. Lance rested back against the leather armchair, as the restaurant patrons babbled around him.

A young couple stopped at his side, as they complained about the wait for the tables. Shiro politely pushed by them, with a couple of drinks in hand, and carefully slid the hot cocoa down before Lance, along with the warmed baby milk. The couple slid out of sight. Lance kept his eyes locked on the window, where – just opposite – a café stood with a familiar group of people leaving with smiles and giggles and shared touches. _Keith._ Lance slid down in his armchair, until they were long gone and they were safe from notice.

The air was filled with the rich scents of food. A band played over in the restaurant area, behind the bar, and the classical music drifted through the air, enough to help lull Ren into a light sleep and helped keep him content. He rested with his head against Lance’s heart, while both hands supported the neck and head with gentle embraces. Lance nearly drifted asleep in turn, until a hand came towards him . . . he flinched. Adrenaline spiked.

“Hey, it’s just me,” whispered Shiro.

A boot had fallen from Ren’s foot, as Shiro – with hands raised in a gesture of surrender – slowly backed towards his armchair and slowly dropped the boot onto the pram. Lance heard nothing save for his heartbeat. A cold sweat broke over his body, as he found himself hunched forward and clasping Ren all too tight. The ache in his stomach was more than just recovery from a difficult birth, but something nauseous and dark.

Lance collapsed back with panted breath. He yawned and bounced Ren on his chest, while Shiro made a gesture to reach out toward them, and – with a wince – Shiro pulled back and dropped his hand limp onto his lap with a sigh. The lines about his face deepened, while a light sheen of water swept over his dark eyes, but he maintained a loose and trembling smile, as if fighting back oncoming tears. A stab of guilt struck Lance hard. He simply watched as Shiro sipped at his coffee, until Shiro found courage to say:

“You have to let me hold him at some point.”

“I know,” mumbled Lance. “I will.”

“It’s been two weeks.” Shiro smiled over his coffee. “I admire how much you love Ren, but you have to learn to trust other people as he gets older. It’s impractical, Lance. He will have to be alone with babysitters, teachers, friends . . . social services will probably want to talk to him alone during check-ups, too. You’ll have to learn to loosen the reins.”

“Okay, but you and I both know that’s when bad things happen! Pops let go of the reins, but then look what happened to me? I – I can’t let him out of my sight, Shiro. I don’t think I could live with myself seeing him in pain, knowing it was my fault . . .”

“You can’t blame yourself for the actions of others.”

“No? So if I let him play in traffic – and he gets hit by a car – that _wouldn’t_ be my fault? I start hyperventilating at night, Shiro. I – I’m _really_ grateful for the side-sleeper, but sometimes I look at him and time stands still and I think he’s stopped breathing or worse! I check his diapers for blood, always terrified when I open them. I – I – I just –”

Lance threw back his head onto the cushions. The pager on the table reminded him of a whole other time, of one before he was even born, and a part of him saw the extravagance as a waste of time and money, especially when all he wanted was to cuddle under the blankets at home with a mug of melted chocolate and a really bad movie. Shiro stared into his mug, as he swirled the contents with lips pursed into a thin white line. He said nothing. The steam blew before his face with beautiful patterns, until words finally escaped his lips:

“Do you trust me, Lance?”

It was a valid question. Lance bit into his lip until he tasted iron . . . _waking up any time Shiro rolled over, checking Ren for bruises any time he looked away, always listening out for the slightest sounds . . ._ outside the sun streamed bright, catching the cars to leave burning afterimages on his retinas. Shiro paled as the silence lingered. They both knew the cold truth between them, but to say it aloud felt too much the end of what could be so perfect.

“No,” whispered Lance.

Ren murmured against his chest, as he bounced and shushed his son. A smile broke across his features, bringing colour to his cheeks, but already a heavy weight pressed down on his stomach, just above his caesarean scar. It was a weight spread across his body, as it leaked into every vein and broke into every muscle. He swallowed hard. Shiro was already trembling and sitting back with hands tented before his face, as if he were personally slapped or insulted, but Lance could barely hold back broken cries. Shiro asked in a desperate voice:

“Do you want for me to move out for a while?”

“I don’t want that, either,” choked Lance. “I don’t think I’ll trust anyone! The doctor had a stethoscope to his chest, Shiro, a freaking _stethoscope_. . . I nearly vomited and had to get the nurse to check his chest instead, because I kept watching his hand . . . watching, waiting . . . would he linger or fondle or tease? I could taste the acid. You saw how hysterical I was when the nurses tried to take Ren into the nursery! Out of my sight, were they _serious_?”

“It’s – It’s normal here, Lance. We could do a home-birth next time? We could also immigrate back to Japan, as I still have family there and there are different societal expectations? I know you don’t do well in therapy, but maybe our couples’ therapist can recommend someone for you that might be able to help? You have anxiety, Lance.”

“I thought I might home-school him,” mumbled Lance. “Then I –”

“He’s going to _need_ to be out of your sight at some point.” Shiro ran a hand over his face. “If – If I’d have known what I did would mess with your mind this much, I swear I would have rather killed myself than lay a hand on you! Not everyone is like me. I’m the outlier, the minority . . . don’t believe everyone to be monsters, when most people are just people.”

“Yeah, but you were my _hero_. My parents _trusted_ you. If I trust someone that seems super nice, and even if my kid loves them to bits, what’s to say that they aren’t doing something wrong behind my back, too? If someone can change, can they change back? W-What if I have this thing inside me, too? I’m thinking . . . I’m thinking we can get nanny-cameras, just so I can make sure I’m not doing anything wrong? Romelle or Shay can watch, then.”

Lance leaned forward with wide eyes. He panted for breath, as he stared with pleading desire, and Shiro – with furrowed brow – simply curled his lip and opened his mouth, until it was clear that something was wrong . . . Lance was wrong . . . broken. A laugh escaped his lips, as he dropped back and let the tears fall over his cheeks. _He couldn’t even trust himself_. Shiro leaned forward and dropped a hand onto Lance’s leg, where he squeezed with a half-smile and locked eyes with him. Lance let his head loll and moaned.

“Mom hasn’t even met Ren,” said Lance.

Shiro slowly came around the table, even as Lance stared towards the windows. He smiled to think how they would have been there, unaware that their son was so close, and a part of him wished he ran to them on sight of them, maybe flinging his arms around his father. Shiro followed his gaze with a frown. A few seconds later he dropped in front of Lance and waved his hand, as if afraid of a dissociative state, but Lance was aware enough to nod.  

“That’s her loss and her choice,” said Shiro. “You’re still in touch with Keith, right? Plus, I know Coran has been ringing the house non-stop to check on you, so you clearly still have him around for support. Talk to them. You need to talk to them.”

“What’s the point? It won’t make the fear go away.”

“Lance, Hunk and Katie unconditionally love you. You have a father and brother that worship you. I think – I think you need to have them around . . . remind yourself how loved and trusted you are, how much support you have . . . your mom will come around, but she just needs time. They would welcome you back tomorrow, if you went back.”

A bright smile crept over Lance’s lips. He closed his eyes, while Shiro ran his hands through his hair and pressed a kiss to his head. A sigh escaped Shiro, as he moved back to his seat, and soon Lance focussed on the sounds around them . . . the music, the gossip, the traffic . . . Ren murmured in his embrace. Lance jolted back to full alertness. A loud yawn widened Ren’s mouth, something so beautiful and natural, and Lance laughed and held him ever closer, while Shiro fidgeted with his hands on his lap. Shiro asked in a low voice:

“Do you want to go back to them?”

“Hmm,” said Lance. “I think for a short while?”

“Talk to me, my love,” said Shiro.

“If I can’t trust you, how can I co-parent with you?” Lance shrugged. “My head is going around like crazy, like I have a whole ants nest in there, and I think I just need a place to crash until I can work out what I want from life. I – I would trust Mom or Honerva to watch Ren, like I think . . . I think it’s just men? I could maybe get Romelle or Shay to help, especially as they both worked with me and know my case history, too.

“At the same time, I want _you_ and I want a family with _you_. I know you’ve changed and we have loads of coping mechanisms in place, plus we have safety nets and back-ups plans, and social services are happy with our situation, so long as I’m in the household. We overcame so much . . . we both helped each other to grow past our traumas, too . . .

“Is that enough? Is it enough that we love each other? I can’t trust you, Shiro, but without trust then our entire relationship unravels and we have no solid foundation. Do you know I sometimes go through your browser history? The other day I was looking for new software, in case you were on the Dark Web or something, and I just -! It’s an insult to you, but it’s also an insult to me that I’d go to such lengths. I’m _not_ that guy.”

“I – I don’t know what to say, Lance.”

“Maybe it’s better not to say anything?” Lance blinked back tears. “I love you, but I think I _really_ need to take time to get my head together. I’m thinking . . . I’m thinking I move in with Keith for a while, because the _last_ fucking thing I need is Mom saying ‘told you so’ and trying to dictate to me how to recover, you know? You can still get regular visitation, and maybe one day we’ll get back together, but once we’re _ready_ to be a couple.”

He struggled to control his heartbeat. The truth was that he had no idea whether Keith would allow him into his home, but the only other option was to get a place of his own, and he knew – _he knew_ – that would only increase his anxiety tenfold. He needed support. He needed routine. Lance drew in a deep breath, while Shiro tented his hands before his mouth, and his lips trembled to such an extreme that tears were imminent, especially as his eyes shook and struggled to focus with the force of his emotion. Shiro fought for breath.

“I didn’t think we rushed into this,” said Shiro. “I never spoke to you until you turned eighteen, and then it took us a year before we even had sex again. I still go to solo therapy, we both go to couples therapy, you have your support groups . . . at what point did that stop being enough? I’m just – I’m just in shock. I thought we could get past this.”

“You also always suspected we might not. I don’t think this makes us weak or a bad couple, but just we have this _wall_ that is hard to get past. If you never abused me or any other kid, maybe we would have hooked up and had a perfect life, but . . .”

“We have to break up, don’t we?”

“We have to break up,” choked Lance. “At least for a while.”

Lance wiped away a tear. The distance between them felt impossible, like a cavern had opened up between them, and the metal on the pram caught the light, sending a small sunbeam down onto the cooling cup of cocoa. He saw how Shiro cried, both silent and strong, and a strong instinct told him to comfort him . . . go to him . . . Lance opened his mouth to take back everything, make amends, but a buzz from his pocket stopped him. He balanced Ren carefully in one hand, before he removed his phone and checked the screen.

The red text bubbles signified that it was Keith, along with the programmed photograph of a pair of buttocks, which – with a wince – Lance knew he would have to change back at some point, but the child still in him did like antagonising his brother. He quickly read the message before he sagged in relief and laughed. _He laughed_. It spilled from his lips natural and warm, until Shiro sniffed and cleared his throat. Shiro asked:

“Who is that?”

“It’s – It’s Keith,” said Lance. “It – It just says that Mom is willing to let me back into the apartment, so . . . so we can hang out, catch up, and maybe be a family again. Mom – Mom doesn’t hate me! She doesn’t hate me, Shiro. She doesn’t hate me . . .”

The tears spilled forth from his eyes. They ran down his cheeks and dropped onto Ren, until – as he choked and spluttered with happy rings of laughter – he was forced to rest Ren on his lap, so that he could wipe at his face with the pads of his palms. A spark of sheer relief sparked through every muscle, as his shoulders dropped and breaths came with greater ease, and he finally raised his head with a huge gasp of breath. Shiro licked at his lips, before he visibly swallowed and scratched at his neck. Ren remained ever quiet.

“You stay with Keith for a while,” whispered Shiro. “I’ll set up the spare room into a bedroom for you, okay? If you like, you could crash at our place for the weekends. It’d let me still see Ren, plus it’s a better school district, but you wouldn’t have the pressure of expectations of sex or romance or anything more. It could be an idea.”

“Could – Could we still do couples’ therapy?”

“Yeah, I think it’d be good to keep the lines of communication open. I do hope one day that you’ll come back to me, maybe trust me alone with our son, but I just want for you to be happy, Lance. You’re not happy right now. Ren needs you at your best.”

They locked gazes. It was a conversation a long time coming, with both aware that things were not working for some time, and yet the sense of loss was great . . . neither had ever loved anyone else . . . no other dates, no other sexual partners, no other romantic declarations . . . both fell silent, as dark frowns stole across both expressions. The couples around them laughed and giggled, while their newborn son yawned again and blinked open his eyes for a rare window in the day, and Lance could only choke out:

“And we can still be friends?”

Shiro leaned forward. He reached out with both hands, as he took Lance’s and held them on either side of their son, and relished in the rare closeness to Ren denied to him, while he squeezed tight in a way that was a clear indication of a need for reassurance. The way his eyes glistened nearly broke Lance, but the smile on his lips was sincere. They held each other for a long few seconds, while Shiro composed himself, and calm finally fell between them.

“We’re still friends,” swore Shiro.


	16. Epilogue

“Papa, look! Look!”

Lance yawned and stretched. The suitcase dropped by the front door, while he ran a hand through still wet hair and double-checked his reflection in the mirror, and – fully dressed and looking smart – he forced a bright smile that brought colour to his cheeks. He wandered over to where the children sat on the bright rug, where bowls of porridge sat beside them half-eaten, with syrup and food-colouring the only thing enticing Ren to eat his share.

A vast array of papers were scattered across the floor . . . pots of glitter, piles of pens, sticks of glue . . . Ren sat with mussed brown hair, finally changed from his pyjamas, with a picture before him that was impossible to decipher. Lance blinked away a few tears. The swell of happiness came every time, as he saw so much of Shiro in those dark eyes, and – despite his hyperactive and extroverted nature – there was also a swell of maturity and patience and wisdom in Ren, too. Lance sat beside him and pulled the picture closer.

Ren nuzzled against him, wrapping arms around his waist. The four-year old yawned and babbled aimlessly about nothing, while Throk sat against the back of the sofa with a notebook on his legs and drew with great speed, and a part of Lance wanted to peek over his shoulder to see what may have been cast onto paper. He looked into to Ren’s work. Lance forced a squeal of delight, as he pulled Ren close and smothered him with kissed, and chirped:

“Wow, that’s a great picture, Ren!”

“It’s you and Daddy.”

“Is it?” Lance gasped. “That’s great! I like how you coloured in the lines, too, and you even coloured in the berries individually! The – er – green hair on Daddy is very creative, Ren. Oh, you’ve spelled ‘Daddy’ and ‘Papa’ and ‘Ren’ just right! You know what? I think you’ll do brilliantly at school tomorrow, because no one is as smart as my baby boy.”

“What about Throk? He drew a picture, too, Papa.”

Throk groaned and blushed. He was quieter than usual, afraid of his first day at school, but he still managed to do all the things he loved most . . . every time Lance turned around, Throk would be drawing some small portrait or playing music on his keyboard. Throk was still dressed in his pyjamas, very Galra in style and imported from New Daibazaal, and he scratched at his black hair and twitched his Altean ears. He lowered his notepad.

The paper was covered with pencil sketches, but one stood out in particular: Ren. It was hardly a masterpiece, but there was also clear shading and perspective . . . Lance had sat through innumerable play-dates and parent-and-me groups, enough to have seen enough potato-headed portraits with stick limbs, but this was something on par with a child twice Throk’s years. There was no wonder why Zarkon paid for art classes and the best equipment, as Throk toyed with a pencil that cost as much as Lance’s shirt. 

“Throk, that’s – that’s _amazing_ ,” whispered Lance.

“It’s nothing,” mumbled Throk.

“Do you want to show your parents?” Lance smiled. “I think this belongs on the fridge, don’t you? I can put both your works up there, so that way everyone will see what great artists you are, and maybe – when Gramps gets here – you can draw with him, too? Come on, let’s go show your daddy. I know he will be so excited to see your drawing!”

“No, he hates me. I showed him a drawing yesterday, but he just shrugged and said it looked fine and went back to work. I heard him tell Papa that it’s hard to get excited over a scribble, because it’s nothing like the pictures in museums. It’s not good enough.”

“It _will_ be good enough with practise, and it’s _great_ for your age, too!”

“But it’s not _objectively_ good.” Throk shrugged. “I learned that word from Daddy. He took me to a museum, because he knew I liked to draw, and he was showing me all the paintings of really famous people. I saw how good they were. I know that’s why he gets bored when I show him my drawings, because they’re not good enough. I’m not stupid.”

Lance sighed and held Ren tighter. He pressed a kiss to his head, before crawling over to Thor and kissing his head in turn, and – trapping his face between both hands – he forced that head to look upward and whispered to him: ‘never doubt yourself’. A kiss pressed and lingered to his forehead, before Lance pulled back and ruffled his hair with a smile. Throk simply shrugged. Lance swallowed back the desire to argue with Throk, lest he feel invalidated by his uncle, too, and instead walked slowly over to the kitchen.

Keith was sat hunched over at the kitchen table, where various documents from the five mechanic shops lay scattered about, and Lance smiled to see his business thriving, as he tried to pick a place for a sixth shop that would continue to rake in profits. He slipped into a stool opposite Keith. The kitchen still bore a thick scent of coffee and fruit, with a bowl of yoghurt beside Keith also half-eaten, and Lance rolled his eyes as he said:

“You know Throk still thinks you hate him?”

A low sigh escaped Keith. He dropped his head into his hands, as he pushed away some tax forms and receipts, and – when he looked up once more – both eyes were dark with visible bags forming a sign of sleep-deprivation. A stain of spit-up marked his shoulder, while a bib was stuck halfway in his pocket, and Lance made a mental note to babysit more often, as he yawned and stretched in his seat. Keith pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. He was worried. Lance remained silent, as he waited for Keith to process events.

“Seriously,” said Keith. “You’re not kidding?”

“Nope, he won’t even show you his art.”

“Well, first of all, that’s not ‘art’.” Keith sighed. “I think he expects me to get excited over everything he likes, kind of like when you guys fake big gasps and smiles at peek-a-boo, but it’s like ‘oh no, my face is temporarily covered by my hands, the horror’! I just don’t get it, you know? I still try, Lance. You’ve lived here . . . what . . . four years? You’ve seen how hard I try! I go to museums and concerts and all his pre-school plays. I just –”

“Hey, you don’t need to tell me,” said Lance. “I know you’re a good father, so I’m not questioning that, but . . . kids don’t _get_ that you still love them, because they just go off what they see, and he just sees someone who doesn’t care when he’s excited. I – I kind of think that sometimes you regret having him, and I know I should say that, but . . . yeah.”

“I don’t want to say ‘ _regret’_? I love Throk more than life itself. If anyone hurts him, I’d kill them and then myself for even allowing a hair on his head to be hurt, but if I could go back and stop the condom from breaking . . . maybe delay him for a year or two . . . yeah, I would. I was just too young. I _love_ Throk, but I think I’d have been a better father with a few years to process things and maybe take parenting classes and be around kids more.”

“You didn’t know how hard it’d be,” whispered Lance.

“Did you? It took you _months_ to be able to leave Ren alone with Mom or Romelle or Shay, and even then it took you nearly a _year_ to let him alone in a room with me or Pops. You freak out if we’re even a minute late, you panic any time we call, you cry any time you walk past his room at night and it’s too quiet . . . you know he sleeps with the door open for you, don’t you? He’s not scared of the dark. He’s scared of you _being_ scared.”

Lance winced. He dropped his hands to his stomach, slightly distended beneath his baggy shirt, and pouted at the idea of Ren being caused any nervousness, especially if it stemmed from his own fears . . . he swore to protect Ren always. _He swore_. It made his heart race, until he struggled to breathe. Lance thought to Coran’s words: ‘when you panic, think of the worst case scenario and realise it’s never usually that bad’. He smiled and laughed, as he quickly ran through the ways to fix matters and help Ren, and soon he calmed down.

A loud squeal echoed from the lounge. Keith was the first to rise, as the front door clicked open and someone stepped inside the lounge, and Lance followed to see Lotor with Antok in his baby-sling, while Throk and Ren stood competing for his attention. Each one would raise their picture ever higher and higher, as they nudged at one another, and Lotor could only pinch the bridge of his nose and call out in a cool voice:

“Shiro is waiting for you outside.”

Keith tensed with a hiss of breath. He ran immediately to the windows, where he cracked the blinds just enough to see the black car across the road, and – jumping back – he nearly bumped into a squealing Ren, who climbed onto a cabinet crying ‘I want to see, I want to see’! Lotor was already behind him to help balance him, while Keith raised trembling hands to his mouth to help breathe deep. Throk came to stand beside him and awkwardly patted his legs, before he walked off without a word and returned to drawing his pictures.

“We don’t say that name in this house,” spat Keith.

“Why not?” Ren asked. “Shiro’s my daddy!”

“Yeah,” teased Lance. “ _Why_ don’t we say that name in this house?”

Keith snatched a pillow from the sofa. He tossed it with full strength toward Lance, who caught it before it could knock Ren or – God forbid – Antok. It thudded loud in his hands, just an inch from Ren and casting a heavy breeze that rustled Antok’s hair, and Lotor turned with a dark glare and flared nostrils. They remained silent. Keith realised his mistake at once, as he paled and mumbled out some incoherent apologies. Lotor stormed forward.

It took a few minutes to undo the baby-sling, while Lance lifted the blinds so Ren could pull faces and giggle and wave to his father, and – when he turned – Lotor was sliding the newborn infant into Keith’s waiting arms, where he at once softened his stance. Keith smiled with tears forming in his eyes, while cradling Antok close and whispering kind words. He bounced Antok with a natural ease, as he eased himself into an armchair and stared down with wonder at his youngest son, while Throk sighed and moved to sit behind the chair.

“You had a question for us, Ren?” Lotor asked.

Lotor came slowly across the room, where he took Ren in his arms and swung him around, before – with a laugh – bringing him behind the armchair and sitting him beside Throk, and the two boys sat side-by-side out of Keith’s line of vision. A blanket was soon stolen from the sofa, as Lotor took a stool from the kitchen and placed it in front of the boys, and draped the blanket over stool and armchair to form a fort. Ren shouted in delight, while Keith shushed him and warned about the baby. Lotor shook his head with a smile and sat with them.

“A long time ago, your daddy and uncle got into an argument.” Lotor kissed Ren. “Did you know they were half-brothers? Well, sometimes brothers argue. In this instance, Daddy got angry and was not nice to Uncle Keith. Do you know what means? It means Uncle Keith is very upset, which is a very normal reaction. If someone hurts us, we don’t always have to forgive them or be friends again, and sometimes we stay angry. Uncle Keith is still angry.

“This doesn’t mean Daddy is a nasty person. It just means some people like him and some people don’t like him, and this is normal for everyone, because not everyone will like us and not everyone will want to be our friend. Daddy is very nice to you, isn’t he? If he is nice to you, that is all that matters. You are loved by all of us. You are a good boy.”

“And that’s why Daddy isn’t allowed in the house?”

“Yes, sweetie,” said Lotor. “We know one day they will have to be in the same room together, because one day you will graduate and get married and have parties, and that is why – _one day_ – Uncle Keith and Daddy will talk and find a way to be in the same room. It may take a while, and they may never ever be friends, but it means that you will be able to sometimes see both of them together, okay? The grown-ups sometimes need time to grow, too.”

Ren nodded with a furrowed brow. He appeared to be processing what was said, but this was a boy who instantly forgave Throk in any argument and never held a grudge, and so it was beyond his understanding why Keith would dislike someone that was his hero. Lance took Ren’s coat and handed it to Ren, who put it on without a sound, and Lance crouched down to hand some cushions and toys for the newly-built forth, which Lotor used to decorate with great skill. Lance smiled and blinked back tears with a sigh.

“Thanks, Lotor,” said Lance.

“No problem at all,” replied Lotor. “Are you still thinking about moving in with Shiro? I must stress that you are more than welcome to stay in our home, while Coran has always been very vocal about wanting you to live with him. Ren appears very excited to live with both parents, but he has his uncles here and his cousins to play with him.”

“I’m sure,” laughed Lance. “It’s been rough these past few years, but I think the distance has done us both a lot of good! We made a lot of progress in couple’s counselling, plus I think I finally have come to terms with my trust issues, and we’ve both had a _lot_ of talks with Ren about ‘naughty places’ and abuse and telling an adult like a teacher or a police officer. I – I really want us to be a family, plus I do _love_ Shiro, so . . . I think it can work.”

“Living with him is different to just weekends,” said Keith.

“I know, but I also know I can still visit you guys. It’s not like when we were first together, when Zarkon and Mom forbade me from every being a part of the family, and now I get to have Sunday dinners with Mom and Pops! I get to have movie-nights with you and the kids, I get to go to family barbeques, and I even get to go to family events like the reunion on Altea, too. Do I wish Shiro could join in? Sure, but I accept that’s a consequence of what he did.”

“There will come a day when we will sit with Shiro,” added Lotor. “I think it will help Keith to be able to confront the one that hurt him, perhaps gaining some answers, but you _must_ know that he will never be allowed in our home or lives. We simply hope to avoid situations where Ren may marry and he must choose between who must be present. We must be civil.”

Lance smiled with fresh tears. He stood to turn and wipe at his eyes, while Ren clamoured over Throk and pestered him to see his drawings, and – outside – Shiro would wave from outside the car and point to his watch, until Lance winced and mimed ‘sorry’.  Keith still sat on the armchair, where he blew raspberries against Antok’s stomach, and Antok giggled in a babyish way in return, until Keith stopped and quirked his head to the side. He locked eyes with Lance with a sad smile, as he pleaded in a mumbled voice:

“Just don’t let him name any other kid ‘Shirogane’, right?”

“Oh, yeah, because ‘Smythe’ was much better,” teased Lance. “You were lucky to be ‘Kogane’, because you took your dad’s name, but have you ever grown up with like five really long and Altean names? It sucks. I’d rather our next one get a normal human name, especially because – er – I don’t think it’ll be long before they’re here.”

“You’re not pregnant again, are you? We already have enough kids in this family.” Keith sighed and shook his head. “Don’t get me wrong, because Antok is the perfect baby. It’s just that it’s always a full house and always someone’s birthday . . . really? You’re pregnant?”

“Three months now, so I’m at the safety point to tell you guys!”

“Does that guy have like super sperm or something?”

Lotor kicked hard at the chair between Ren and Throk. The two boys laughed, as Keith was knocked uncomfortably forward, and – muttering a complaint – Keith stood and held Antok close to his chest, while he walked toward Lance. He furrowed his brow and pursed his lips, as if fighting whether to criticise or complain, but he simply remained silent until he drew in a deep breath and nodded respectfully toward Lance. A smile crossed his lips.

“I’m happy for you, bro,” said Keith.

“Thanks, Keith. I mean it.”

They shared a long look, until both finally broke into stifled laughter. Lance knew that Keith would never fully support the union, but he would always be there to support Lance and provide a safe place in times of crisis, and that meant more than he could express. A shuddered breath escaped Lance, as he wiped at his eyes and leaned down to kiss Antok and pat at Keith’s shoulder, before he stepped back and clapped his hands on his thighs. He smiled bright enough that lines cracked at the corner of his eyes.

“Ah, we better get going, I suppose,” chirped Lance. “Ren, come on! It’s time to go home and your dad’s outside waiting to give us a lift! We also have some good news for you, so there’s a big slice of cake and if you wait too long -? Well, it might go stale.”

“I’m coming. I’m coming,” cried Ren. “I’m here!”

“Good boy.” Lance ruffled his hair. “Keith? Lotor? I’ll come back tomorrow to get the rest of our stuff, but I need you guys to know that – without you – I probably wouldn’t be here. You guys gave me hope and support when I needed it most, and . . . well . . . we fought a lot as kids, but we’re adults now and I love you both. Thank you, for everything.”

Lance blushed deep. He quickly grabbed at Ren’s hand, as he dashed towards the door, and – hearing Keith’s mumbled ramblings and Lotor’s giggle – he darted outside and grabbed at his suitcase, before closing the door and heaving a low sigh. A smile broke across his features, before he pressed his forehead to the door and whispered again: ‘thank you’. He took Ren by the hand and led him across the road, while he dragged the suitcase behind him, and Shiro knelt down on the kerb ready to be with his family once again.

“Hey, little man,” chirped Shiro.

Shiro flung his arms around Ren. He swung him high up into the air, before spinning around and pulling him close, and – smothering him with kisses – Ren burst into laughter and called Shiro ‘silly’, before he dropped down and climbed into his usual spot in the backseat. Shiro made to help him buckle in, but – catching Keith watching from the window – he winced and let Lance take over, as he visibly swallowed and rapidly blinked. Shiro asked:

“Is everything alright, Lance? I’m sorry I –”

Lance spun around. He threw his hands around Shiro and pressed a kiss to his lips, while Ren let loose a long ‘yuck’ and fought with his buckles to try and get loose, and Lance could only pull away with a soft chuckle, before pressing a chaste kiss to Shiro again. They locked gazes. A few long seconds passed them by, until Shiro burst into tears and held Lance impossibly close, while Lance realised the depressing truth . . . no one in the world trust him, not even with his own son, but Lance trusted him. . . Lance loved him. They still had each other.

“I love you,” whispered Lance.


End file.
